small self-portrait against a bitter landscape

Editor back-issues, John Sweet, poetry

the boy is possibly
dead already and almost
certainly dying and still
the box that holds his body
is thrown into the water

ten years old
you understand
and drugged and bound and raped
and i am spitting in the
face of god

i am sitting next to my son’s bed
and listening to his
gentle breathing

i am finding the point
at which i would
kill without regret

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