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Barton D Smock
Poems
Aug 2017
we brought home the wrong dying baby (ii)
father an optometrist inspecting a replica of a totem pole and mother an eel collapsing at the thought of a play performed in a stone.
and there, at the bottom of grief, a cup of dirt with nothing to bury.
Written by
Barton D Smock
48/M/Columbus, Ohio
(48/M/Columbus, Ohio)
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