Thursday, March 5, 2020

John Sweet writes

time, in all directions

or the minor acts of dead men

of forgotten lovers

you live in the past
                 or future
and make no apologies

am i inventing you
correctly here?

fifteen wasted years and
then five good ones
and then the cancer

the phone call from his sister on a
weekend i was out of town and
what if i tell her the joke but
forget the punchline?

there are other lives at stake here,
you understand

gods taking bullets and
newborn babies set on fire and
all of the pits being dug by
anonymous soldiers on the
edges of factory towns

all of the wars that are started
while we sleep

all of the letters from home
that get lost along the way

never knew you were loved
until it was
too late to matter

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