dali, drunk on the eastern bank of the tioughnioga river in the year of my birth

By John Sweet

this quiet knowledge, this
unspoken admission, this stupid goddamn truth
that all of your great adventures
are in the past

that nothing can be touched without the
ever-present threat of doing it harm

not by you, of course, but by 100,000,000
others just like you, which is just a
prettier way of saying by you


a desert is a desert

what we were has nothing to do with
who we are
but maybe we can forget this

maybe our truths no longer hold any pleasure

we never get tired of fucking
just of fucking each other

windows left open on early summer afternoons,
you naked on the floor with dying
flowers spilling from your open mouth

sunlight and cold wind and
dreams of escape

that exact moment where i finally stopped
growing up and just started growing old

Category: Poetry, SNHU Creative Writing, SNHU online creative writing