[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
jun 2
and of course your father knew
you’d be the one who wouldn’t escape and
can you still hear the sound of his
drunken laughter?
did you get as
fucked-up as you wanted?
some high school girl naked on her hands and
knees in a motel room in the shitty part of town and
what choice does she have but to
smile for the camera?
easter sunday, let’s say
god or a gun or maybe both
don’t want to die but
so
what?
happiness arrives like everything else,
and then it leaves again
sunlight filtered through poison
is still sunlight
door to the burning house is opened
and the women you love smiles
nothing but pain in her eyes
as she
tells you to come on in
John Sweet
Fuselage
This man with his hands on fire,
with his chest cut open,
peeled back,
heart illuminated like the eyes of Christ,
the musicians warming up,
the planes coming in too low
Woman spreads her legs here,
gives birth to a war
Feeds it the bones of her children
Steps out of the car and she’s
already seven months pregnant again,
and the bomb is strapped across
her swollen stomach
The killing is in the name of God
He only hates you
because you’re human
John Sweet
wounded ship
on an ocean of dust
felt like late fall
all winter long
thought i was van gogh then
thought i was the crows
stood in the shadow of a
white stucco church on the west
side of town watching the sun slowly
drop behind february trees
considered where i might be able to get
30 pieces of silver
and listen
none of these wars are going to
be won in your lifetime or mine
none of these assholes in power really
care about you as a person, so
why do you keep voting for them?
is your life so empty you need the
drugs just to help you feel alive?
gotta keep right on the edge
gotta keep the anger from
slipping into desperation
the poets with their brains blown out
or the dead-eyed dauighters
doing internet porn
the kings just begging to be killed
the prophets chained to the
bumpers of pick up trucks then
dragged to pieces down gravel roads
do you choose to be a victim
or is the honor forced on you?
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
the other
truth
honey loves her burning house says
she loves her father’s fists, says
the dream doesn’t mean anything
tell her the baby’s dead, tell her
her boyfriend’s a thief,
but all she wants to do is sing
all she wants to do is sleep
wake up smiling,
wipe the ashes from her eyes
John Sweet
