scar tissue

and the trick is to believe in
better men and then
the trick is to find them

the trick is to stop time

hands held up in surrender as
the trigger is pulled

dream of a disappearing father

wake up cold in a
room filled with sunlight

woke up pinned to the
present tense
by all my past mistakes

had poison in a luminous
bottle by my bed and i had
medicine and the trick to
both was moderation

the moment of realization
was already a
blurred and distant memory

wanted to stop growing up
so i wouldn’t start
growing old

John Sweet, b. 1968, has lived most of his life in rural upstate New York. A believer in “writing as catharsis”, and a searcher for some constantly evolving absolute truth. Most recent collection is approximate wilderness (Flutter Press, 2016).

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