sick of sorrow and forgiveness

sick of winter

grey sky, grey hills, the bodies of
animals left by the sides of
saltstained roads

the days all shaped like funnels

a need for oil, for transmission
fluid, for antifreeze

let the gears grind

let the houses burn

no more heroes, okay?

no more angry gods

and i sat there thinking i
should say something, but
there was nothing to say

had known her twenty years
earlier, when she was
beautiful, when i was still human

what happens is never clear

all hearts are clocks
running backwards

all moments are lost

why wouldn’t you laugh at
the pain this causes?

– John Sweet