trajectory, reversed
or january sunlight on
cinderblock buildings
lives wasted but not yours
and maybe not mine and it’s a long
road from kandinsky to lydon and
after that
you’re on your own
just water dripping into
a stained kitchen sink
a view of empty parking lots
and dirty snow
not suicide but absolute
hatred turned inward
bare walls stained with grease and
a long useless history and
jesus christ
wouldn’t you kill for just a
mouthful of broken glass?
john sweet, b 1968, still numbered among the living. A believer in writing as catharsis. An optimistic pessimist. His latest collections include Bastard Faith (2017 Scars Publications) and the limited edition Heathen Tongue (Kendra Steiner Editions). All pertinent facts about his life are buried somewhere in his writing.