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May 3, 2016 / barton smock

keep

the laziness animals have, that kind of panicked longing…

and brevity, the faith
of insects

my shadow, of course, afraid of its borrowed blood

that barn
in the middle of nowhere’s haunted eyesight

the invisible
after-hours
birth, and the woman

who keeps the baby
despite
its perfection

this quiet in the redneck’s
library
of forgiveness, this thunder…

the agony of the boomerang’s maker

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