John Sweet writes

a poem, but not the one i meant

 

and i have seen yr death on

any number of frozen sunlit hillsides

have kissed the salt on yr lips and the ice that
pools in the corners of yr silent eyes and
i have buried yr bones beneath the skin of every
drugged-out fucked-up day of
late november

do you remember?

you were born first and then me
a few months later and then it was just a
matter of learning to separate your
truths from my lies

made a fortune selling weapons to
all sides of every war

bet everything i had on christ and
lost it all then walked back
home through a bitter goddamn rain

thought about becoming a priest or a rapist

some servant of god with his hands on fire
and his veins filled with meth and i
have seen you blessed by suicides and
by smiling men with the heads of jackals

we have held each other on
broken beds at 3 a.m.

was a foregone conclusion
that i would fail you so completely

Embers Turn to Stars -- Jerry LoFaro