Poetry

June 6, 2018 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Daniel Ivan photo

 

By

John Sweet

 

 

 

we fall apart

 

 

self-portrait on the coldest day of the year,

naked in the ice-choked water and laughing

 

not your grandfather’s suicide,

but the birth of your first child

 

the windows stained with frost

 

all minor parts of the same bitter story and

it’s here that this

12 year old girl hangs herself

 

it’s here that she reaches a point where

suicide is a better option than life and

the failure is yours and

the failure is mine and she

needs to have her name carved into stone

 

needs to have her story replace

the pointless shit scribbled onto the

pages of holy books

 

needs to be remembered as the one

untainted truth in this palace

of man-made gods and false kings

 

 

 

 

 

the false king’s lament

 

 

man on fire in the middle of the

street and he won’t let you ignore him

 

wants to shake your hand

 

says he remembers your father

 

all of those drunken nights in the

whorehouses on the outskirts

of gethsemane and he

tells you your family isn’t safe

 

he offers to sell you a gun

 

explains that not everyone’s

truth is the truth

 

that not every corpse

should be lamented

 

offers to show you a

trunkful of murdered children

worth nothing at all

 

 

 

 

 

John Sweet

john sweet, b 1968, still numbered among the living.  A believer in writing as catharsis.  An optimistic pessimist.  Avoids zealots and social media whenever possible.  His latest collections include BASTARD FAITH (2017 Scars Publications) and the limited edition HEATHEN TONGUE (Kendra Steiner Editions).  All pertinent facts about his life are buried somewhere in his writing.

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