a sleeping child

Editor back-issues, John Sweet, poetry

in this year
of dragged bodies
there is always a silence
where apologies
refuse to fall

where a man is
nailed to the sky’s canvas
for turning away from
the sun

is found below the
rippled ceiling of the river
with empty dreams filling his
pockets and how can you
define violence when
there is nothing
else?

how do you explain fear
to a sleeping child
and why would you
ever want to?

and somewhere
of course
there is someone who
knows the answer

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