[i’ll throw sand in your eye]

understand that all
truth is de chirico’s truth

that objects seen are
only a beginning

early august in another town, 

you are almost, but not
quite, the prodigal son

you are empty-handed
and broken-hearted,
and you walk into the room 
where your father’s body was 
found 15 years earlier


bare white walls and
sunlight, maybe

a memory of closed doors
or leaving trains

a hand grabbing you
by the throat, by the back
of the neck, and the man was 
not a martyr, but a
self-made victim

was both a clenching 
fist and an pen hand

the smell of cigarettes
and of whiskey

sound of laughter

of crying

you were always
such a fucking baby

John Sweet

John Sweet sends greetings from the rural wastelands of upstate NY. He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the continuous search for an unattainable and constantly evolving absolute truth. His latest poetry collections include "A Flag on Fire is a Sign of Hope" (2019 Scars Publications) and "A Dead Man, Either Way" (2020 Kung Fu Treachery Press).