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on this blue night Joan Didion smokes cigarettes in the dark her typewriter click clacks as she pulls the clouds down around her it is always night here she wears her grief like stars her daughter her husband have been waiting this constellation is a family again death just a warm manuscript that tastes of bourbon she dances in a black leotard tossing her bones like dice into the ether
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AuthorMichelle Tinklepaugh Archives
April 2023
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