Four Poems


by Chad Sweeney








decomposing on

no table.

To eat


is to remember.

Derelict and frothing

my husband

dressed all in cartoons


left the party early 

with Wittgenstein

enamored of a harelip thespian

the way gas inside its tank


leans at high tide.

Please, remember me!

We crossed the street together.

We shared a bus.


A man fell from a bycicle

as gracefully as he could

because his daughter was watching.








Perhaps a woman is waiting for you.

In a turquoise mood.  In a yellow car.

In the parking lot of a ghost town.


Where a flock of scarves is turning.

Where it’s sixty degrees inside the idea

and seven o’clock on the last day.


Where the children have misplaced your bones.

Where a glass anvil is falling

through atmospheres of language.





Journey to Detroit



They let me join the caravan

as far as Detroit.

I can play the zither, I said,

I can fix a camel.


At night the wives slipped away

from their tents and traded places.

They pretended to sleepwalk.

A great cry of love rose like washing machines.


Crucifixes lined the highways,

the towns emptied of thieves.

Gases issued from rain gutters

cast our hands in gold.





Of What Continues



Sun climbs its elevator shaft.

I promise. 

Someone keeps pulling sky

past the screen door. 


Let’s get married.

Pasture of vermillion grass.


Let’s wrap each other in the great



where beetles tend to crab apples.

A yellow umbrella

stays lit in the storm.



E·ratio · Sweeney.pdf