Wednesday, February 12, 2020

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
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
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 

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 

time to find a vein 
and double the dosage
J.J. Campbell

Tuesday, February 11, 2020

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
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 

Helpless I do not know if good intentions prevail among the elected, among the appointed, leaving me apprehensive that the fate ...