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John SweetPoemsuntitled composition in black and white landscape made hopeless in the season of rust |
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god
John Sweet
almost rain
almost silence
the pills that keep
the fear away
the fact of
working towards nothing
my hands scraped raw
and my house filled with ghosts
and my wife who phones to
say she's almost home
who understands the room
of empty chairs
has been there by herself
while the doctors performed
small violent miracles on the other side
of a locked door
while the sniper waited patiently
until the shot was perfect
the silence broken and
the man suddenly on the floor in a
pool of orange juice and blood
his wife screaming
hysterically
the clocks
all moving forward
without pause
From Silence in the House of truths
www.tmpoetry.com
