- John Sweet
in the city of silent effigies
in the city of silent effigies
no hatred
today
no bullets through the hearts
of holy men
i sit in
the motionless haze of
august evenings
and write poems for
sleeping children
instead
i hold your hand
in the shadows of
the refinery towers
the bleeding horse stands up
and walks away
i pour whiskey
on my father's grave
and villages don't burn
and innocent men don't hang
the walls are always white
the beds always neatly made
i stand
in the middle of main street
and breathe gasoline air
i hold your hand
in the silence of
wide open fields
flowers grow at our feet
and no one declares war
we wait for our luck
to fail
—John Sweet