SENTINEL POETRY #26 Online Magazine Monthly, January 2005





each day with edges

to sharpen my teeth on


each room in the house of truths

filled with corpses and



and my son crying in the hallway

and my hands clenched into

useless fists and

the first drops of rain coming down

hard against the windows


the factories abandoned

and the parking lots overrun

with weeds


your sister with her lover


with the words he carves

across her naked back for her

children to read


and maybe a street

for each president or maybe

one for each dying city in

upstate new york


maybe the fact that

anywhere you choose to go

has already been poisoned


dead trees rising up

out of black water


burned-out trailers along

the highway's edge


stay in any one place

long enough

and it becomes your tomb



John Sweet is 36, married, a father, and writes from upstate New York.


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