the shadows of clouds in the
vast empty spaces
between these dying factory towns
not the desert but
a dream of it
small plastic crosses tangled in
the weeds along the edges of the interstate
the soft hum of every song i’ve
ever loved hidden in the
static on the radio and so what? he says,
this dead poet who can’t stand
anything i write
so what? and so what? and so what?
which is the same thing i would
say to him if he were
still alive and we
each hold a gun with our
finger on the trigger
we each see the world as it
but how can this be possible?
how is it that light pours out of
the holes we’ve both
dug in the earth?
who is it, exactly,
that needs to be buried?
John Sweet sends greetings from the rural wastelands of upstate NY. He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the continuous search for an unattainable and constantly evolving absolute truth. His latest poetry collections include Heathen Tongue (2018 Kendra Steiner Editions) and Bastard Faith (2017 Scars Publications).