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Poems
by John Sweet
small
poem from a crowded parking lot
and yes
i love my wife and son
but there is no warmth to be
found in december
sunlight
the idea of escape is
so much easier than the
thing itself
you
you know
nothing of
cancer
until your
first friend
dies
slowly and
terribly and
even then
you know
nothing
you live
beyond this
she has lost
the baby
beyond this
there
is nothing
in the kingdom of empty factories
in the kingdom
of empty factories
my father is not a drunk
but a drunken god
and then ten years later he's dead
and i want to feel an absence
in my life but there is
only this anger so big it
leaves no room for
anything else
there is only this need to
write until i am clean
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