Myself Among the Blind

black shapes against
whatever remains
of the sky

does this sound familiar?

the blue glow of televisions
through dirty windows

the season of crow
upon us without warning

bones in the fields
and this idea that weapons
are a solution

and at some point
you will be forced to
choose between politics
and survival

you will approach
the burning house and
recognize it as your own
or maybe you already
have

maybe the bones are
your father's

never believe that
your tears
will wash them clean

-- John Sweet