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May 2015
wrapped in a sheet from my mother’s bed, I make my way to the outhouse to show my brother there is a future in smuggling the skin of god.  my father is scraping leaves into an empty pool and the earth with a rake.  if death speaks briefly, I am in two places that cannot exist without exposure.  gone long, it spoke once on the loss of loss.
Barton D Smock
Written by
Barton D Smock  48/M/Columbus, Ohio
(48/M/Columbus, Ohio)   
533
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