poem where the skin peels away from the bone

Editor back-issues, John Sweet, poetry

how many years now
since the war to end all wars
and how many more wars?

how many young girl’s bodies
found in the
deserts of southern california?

how many babies left in dumpsters
or in plastic bags?

and there is my wife
who says that no one wants their
face pressed into this much
pain and ugliness and
i agree

i kiss her
as she falls asleep on a
warm september afternoon
then crawl to my desk to
finish this poem

what i never
thought i’d be was
a junkie

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