I LIVE IN A COUNTRY WITH THE NAME OF GOD
burned in its forearm
Memory ran clear over rocks
and rocks knew blood stretched up trees
in the “new” days
(A brain is a burden only
when the ocean is in your mouth)
dribbling guts in the field
we cast of concrete
White home
bloomed into cloud
I BARRIER IN MY SLEEP
like a line lies flat as sea
My partner is a new word, I swim
in the mellow
homeish fjords
We sway cleft
ideologies in moontime
I barrier in bone
to whinge water...
High enough to fragrant be
I WANT YOU TO LET GO OF THE HOUSE
with hands bigger than the house
Leave dogs to fend for dogs
in their unknown estate
You are blood-bound, gold-praying
for cinnamon I ache
for business stitched to a duvet
but I will never take the advice
you never gave me I will not leave
No, your sad bravery
is love with no one at the end of it
Dennis James Sweeney is the author of You’re the Woods Too (Essay Press, 2023) and In the Antarctic Circle (Autumn House Press, 2021), as well as several chapbooks of poetry and prose, including Ghost/Home: A Beginner's Guide to Being Haunted (Ricochet Editions, 2020). His writing has appeared in Ecotone, Five Points, Ninth Letter, The New York Times, and The Southern Review, among others. Formerly a Small Press Editor of Entropy and Assistant Editor of Denver Quarterly, he has an MFA from Oregon State University and a PhD from the University of Denver. Originally from Cincinnati, he lives in Amherst, Massachusetts, where he teaches at Amherst College.