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Tryst Feature Poet John Sweet |
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Tryst Feature Poet John Sweet |
| stealing the title to atwood's notes towards a poem that can never be written |
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there is this need to discuss pain to describe the color porcelain becomes when it's smeared with blood language i've been told is a gift and on a wednesday evening late in the season of weeping ghosts one of the words you unwrap is loss the space you stand in falls somewhere between hatred and despair and the sky is grey and hung only inches above the rooftops the walls tremble but hold and when you pick up the phone and dial maybe the word you speak into your sister's waiting ear will be decay maybe the description you give will be of two tiny arms horribly deformed what matters is that you make her feel © 2002 John Sweet Featured Poetry |