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June 21, 2016 / barton smock

old, edit, abandon

[a son and a vision]

my pupils conserve blood for the dotting of your thighs. Tuesday we’ll try to find the vein that proves motherhood. as you were, madness. this is the time it takes to pull an arm hair from the weak suck of one’s inner ant. this the whale my son fills with sand.

/ the beach belongs to a dreamless mule. the stages of grief omit grief.

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