June 2008 / Volume Eight / Issue Two
John Sweet
salt, rust

sound of machinery trapped in
the cold amber silence
gears clotted with old blood
i spent too many years being
a husband sitting at home
sharpening knives
never owned a gun
never noticed who was
driving the car
watched it pull away w/ my wife,
my children,
and then i turned back to the
problem at hand
found the mask my father
had given me, and it was a
perfect fit
wore it whenever i fucked a
woman whose name i
wanted to forget
wore it until i
no longer knew who i was
felt too good to give up