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Barton D Smock
Poems
Jun 2018
returning
this was after your brother had died everywhere
I was calling shotgun for poverty’s mistress
during a game of shirts and skins
I think by then
jesus had fed
nearly two of the five
thousand
with a sunburn
and an ambulance
& most animals were still having four dreams)
anyway, something flew into your mother’s mouth
and the look on her face
told nobody
it had teeth
Written by
Barton D Smock
48/M/Columbus, Ohio
(48/M/Columbus, Ohio)
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