Haley Tarnowski

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Once, I loved fireworks so much they made me weep without warning. I smoked too much pot one young summer and almost missed them until I simply remembered to look up. Gold valley crackling in chaos. Now, it is a sound that undoes me, too much violence to the sky. In this way, I have become more dog. More senses, shake, and nerve.
The Hurting Kind: Poems
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