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SENTINEL POETRY #26 Online Magazine Monthly, January 2005 |
JOHN SWEET Depression each day with edges to sharpen my teeth on each room in the house of
truths filled with corpses and ghosts and my son crying in the
hallway and my hands clenched into useless fists and the first drops of rain
coming down hard against the windows the factories abandoned and the parking lots overrun with weeds your sister with her lover with the words he carves across her naked back for her children to read and maybe a street for each president or maybe one for each dying city in upstate new york maybe the fact that anywhere you choose to go has already been poisoned dead trees rising up out of black water burned-out trailers along the highway’s edge stay in any one place long enough and it becomes your tomb John
Sweet is 36, married, a father, and writes from upstate New York. |