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September 7, 2026 / barton smock

some dogs got help

I leave the car open and a neighbor sends their kid over to steal my alcohol. I let the kid get pretty far before pretending to point a gun at my head. The kid's head explodes a year from now. Your now, not mine. I'm not the father in every poem. It's okay to sleep like deer. Here comes that car, kid. My now is that fetus curled into a tire swing. The small amount of force you can't get back.   

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