sea of tears
John Sweet, August 2009
reach yr dead hands up to
the surface
teach them to burn flags
to assassinate kings
all solutions create new problems,
and so the trick
is selective blindness
sat there in the back yard and
pointed out jupiter and
venus to my sons
spent most of my time
worrying that i was failing them
days got colder until we
ended up at zero
sick at christmas
sky of dirty glass
say to her i am not you and
then say you are not wakoski
say you are not atwood
it helps to be alone
it helps to believe in
redemption
we will all end up dead no
matter how many gods
clutter our rooms
perspective
John Sweet, August 2009
these days like black & white
pictures and all of these
pictures blurred and inarticulate
creaking staircases
and cracked windows
dirty light
find the field where the body was
buried, the one where the indians were
massacred, and lay down
your flowers
all of history is detailed
in the slow collapse of barns
all dreams in the wilderness
are dreams of decay
this girl on the carpet, carpet
soaked with blood, mother on the
far side of the room
candles on the sidewalk,
meaningless but pretty
a small atrocity, yes
but still too much
still so goddamned huge
John Sweet, 1968 – 20??, believer in writing as catharsis. Father and mild-mannered civil servant. Opposed to all forms of organized religion. Recent collections include “SUNPOISON” and “ASH WILDERNESS.”
