Issue No. 17, Summer 2016

aesop’s blues

in the cold white light of
february mornings
in the shadows of obsolete monuments
where we no longer touch

this is the world defined by
indifference and rust

this is a handful of salt held out
to christ while he dies on the cross

a gift without meaning
or offered with nothing but malice

a man walking slowly across
the frozen river and
then gone

sends his love
which is worth nothing at all

John Sweet sends greetings from the rural wastelands of upstate New York. He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the need to continuously search for an unattainable and constantly evolving absolute truth. His latest collection is Approximate Wilderness (2016 Flutter Press).