Archive for the John Sweet Category

amphetamine christ by John Sweet

Posted in John Sweet with tags , on November 24, 2016 by Scot

and you w/ yr faded blue wings and
that i am tired of distance

that i am a believer in
both depression and resurrection

an addict and a savior but
this is nothing
special in the age of relentless fear

will you vote?

will you pull the trigger?

such limited choices for a
country that promised us everything

a lot of starving dogs but no
shortage of overdosed whores

no shortage of hypocrites
spewing meaningless platitudes

man spends his whole life being
some greedy motherfucker, spends it
being some righteous saint, and
no one notices any difference

we are living through the
numbered days of minor kings who
crawl through alleyways of filth

who would rape their own children if
it gave them more power

and you w/ yr pale grey thoughts and
me stumbling like tiresias
through cold october sunlight

that i am afraid for my sons

that each poem is a
confession of failure

yours and mine both


Two poems by John Sweet

Posted in John Sweet with tags on December 2, 2015 by Scot


the poet w/out hands, w/out a tongue

sat there wanting to
write something
sat there thinking about
all of the things i’d said to you
and all of the things i’d
kept to myself
knew the priests would
end up devouring the children

knew the idea of democracy
was just one more weapon
for the rich to beat the
poor with
had a song going through
my mind but i
couldn’t remember the words
was watching it snow
outside an upstairs window
listened to the sounds the
animals made as they starved
to death by slow degrees



says he’s tired of being poor
says he’s tired of letting the
dogs fuck his wife blind

is sick of christ screaming on
the bathroom floor, and
he tells me it’s time to move on
tells me columbine is
ancient history
says no one gives a shit about
andrea yates anymore
the fields are black with the
blood of the
unloved and the unwanted
the malls are all built on
the corpses of indians
we’ve come too far to let
our failures
stand in the way of progress

for carolyn wearing the crown of pain by John Sweet

Posted in John Sweet with tags on October 26, 2014 by Scot

on the other side of the continent
in the wrong part of the year,
bleeding ice-cold sunlight and
thinking about st maria and last blurry
fucked up days of dennis wilson

waiting for the children to run away

waiting for judas and his
latest girlfriend and when he finally arrives
he brings a copy of exile on main st
and a bottle of wine

smiles and says the
brightest days are behind us

knows in his heart that there is no
end in this world to the list of
things not worth dying for