The Desert In Between by John Sweet

man is a messenger of dust
                                  of disease
and you can tell this by his eyes,
by the emptiness of his smile

carpet is on fire

car has no brakes

and she was talking in her sleep,
                                          you see,
midnight and 83 degrees and we were
striking matches off her children

i was sticking pins in her wings

didn’t want her to move,
didn’t want her faith to be tarnished

but this man with his milky
white eyes,
with his teeth filed down to points

she said she loved him
and he laughed

she showed me her bruises
and they were beautiful

were shaped like angels and we
drove 400 miles with him chained
to the bumper and we sang
every inch of the way

400 miles with visions of god
caught like bugs in his teeth, like
bones in his throat, and what i
remember is that he came from the
wrong side of some imaginary
                                        border

what i remember is that he held
the wrong ideas, was fucking the
wrong woman, and so it really
wasn’t anyone’s fault,
you know?

wasn’t anything he didn’t deserve

john-sweet
john sweet, b 1968, still numbered among the living. A believer in writing as catharsis. an optimistic pessimist. Opposed to all organized religion and political parties. Avoids zealots and social media whenever possible. His latest collections include A NATION OF ASSHOLES W/ GUNS (2015 Scars Publications) and APPROXIMATE WILDERNESS (2016 Flutter Press). All pertinent facts about his life are buried somewhere in his writing.
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