June 6, 2018 Poetry , POETRY / FICTION

Daniel Ivan photo



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.

Editor review


No Comments Yet!

You can be first to comment this post!

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.