and the bleeding horse drinks

Editor back-issues, John Sweet, poetry

rain
but nothing is
made pure

birds sing and
the refrigerator hums
and the streets take us
from one anonymous town to
the next

three days
then four
and the bleeding horse drinks
what he can

staggers drunkenly through
these fields of
the newly murdered

falls to his knees
even as
the trigger is pulled

a clean shot
but nothing so pure as
an act of mercy

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