liquid ecstasy

 

she's the kind of woman

that you imagine what

she would taste like

while sitting on your

face before you even

see her

 

cherries and sunshine

 

liquid ecstasy

 

the last tab of desire

you put under your

tongue

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

flushed down a toilet

 

i never bothered to

ask for permission

or seek any forgiveness

 

what’s the point

 

i'm pretty sure hell

isn't any worse than

the last forty years

on this earth

 

i told my mother i want

to be cremated and put

it an ocean or flushed

down a toilet

 

it's all the same to me

by then anyways

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

only get you so far

 

the neon angel

doesn't talk to

me much anymore

 

apparently, love

can only get you

so far in this century

------------------------------------------------------------------

no relief ever came

 

blessed with a talent

where most of the

money comes once

you die

 

i once sat in the

middle of the street

on a busy afternoon

 

i waited patiently

 

no relief ever came

 

the cops used to

drive me home

on saturday nights

 

white privilege at

its finest

-----------------------------------------------------------

without hardly any snow

 

yet another

winter without

hardly any

snow

 

thank god

my schooling

years are long

behind me now

 

i completely

understand why

the youth are

in revolt

-----------------------------------------------------------

the load of a broken soul

i'm used to the pain, 

the side eyed looks 

from afar

my demons are always 

looking for a party

while my body is 

constantly tapping 

out

the bad back is done 

carrying the load of 

a broken soul

sadly, arthritis has me 

at the point where even 

a crawl is damn near 

impossible

time to find a vein 

and double the dosage

-------------------------------------------------------------

J.J. Campbell

Seriously, are we having fun yet?

I don't recall signing up to be a member of the Fascist Nation, yet here I am, knee deep in mouth breathers and cousin-humpers.

I keep hoping that if I write enough, eventually one of these illiterate guardians of pseudo-patriotism will learn how to read well enough to read some of my stuff and stick me on an enemies list.

How cool would that be?

In the meantime, I guess we all just keep walkin' with the beast...……...

John Sweet

[as the band began to play, out of tune]

useless godking with his

broken hands nailed to the floor

not faith but a

lust for power

sound of newborn babies

crushed beneath bootheels

sound of laughter

and are you a motherfucker or

are you an asshole?

a dead man, either way, but

maybe not for a few years yet

play your cards right

cum when you can,

lie when you can’t

ignore the stench of progress

write down the name of

every corpse you find

consider the day when this list

finally comes to an end

John Sweet

and i was driving to work when i

heard the news about cobain

was saddened

but not surprised

had reasons to live that i

wouldn’t let go of

hated myself

               yes

but hated the rest of you

that much more

John Sweet

a confession for the queen of open wounds

no comfort

this deep into january,

only losses

only victims

zero times zero which is

all the religion you’ll need,

or at least it’s all i’ll offer

a simple act of drowning once we

break through the ice and

was this the desert you’d always dreamt of?

shades of pale blue and grey

bones of forgotten survivors,

of missing children

faceless man who tells you christ is

the answer, and have his eyes been gouged out or

was he born without them?

how best to ask?

or else your father

who was a lifetime believer in good times

who died of depression

left behind debt and

the gift of self-doubt

a house on fire and a room filled

with masks you almost recognize and

                                           now what?

broken glass and twisted metal and

still january, right?

the drowning boy trapped

beneath the river’s surface

nothing on the horizon but february

i have no memories of ever

being in love there

John Sweet