it was shit it was sorrow and we laughed at the idea of winter

 

I'm in there somewhere......

amazon.com/dp/B0DQ888QMF

no one offers you hope without wanting something in return

 

[Alternate Route] Issue 15 Fall 2024.pdf

st. maria in the desert

 

and roses are a poor religion,

but no worse than alcohol and no

worse than writing and probably

better than god

 

in the dream,

the rain won’t stop

 

a baby cries while the walls melt

and then awake into the

brutal sunlight of late june

 

it’s easy

 

you’re a writer

until you decide to stop

 

until the decision is made for you

 

no one stands christlike in

the room of murdered children

 

no one is born

believing in hatred

 

you either accept this as the

truth, or you go blind

poetry written in semen

 

                                                                        Scud: John Sweet

what is any god, really, but a loaded gun aimed at your face?

 

THANK YOU FOR THE PUSHCART NOMINATION

 

                 John Sweet - nothing that was ever mine | Winged Penny Review

POEMS FOR THE LIVING AND POEMS FOR THE DEAD

 

                      The 20th Annual Poetry E-Book Free-For-All

let the dogs run wild, let the children live in fear

 

                                                 Locust Shells Volume-1-Issue-2.pdf

a lot of blood spilled for a lot of gods

 

fuck you and goodbye

 

DEAD MAN, I HAVE SEEN YOUR FUTURE

 

if not the truth, then at least a lie worth believing

 

lost in the forest of blind prophets

 

                               http://www.packingtownreview.com/issues/22/sweet/lost.html

wanted to be lost, but it was too late for that

 

                   Lothlorien Poetry Journal: Five Poems by John Sweet

patience in and of itself and then despair

 

Everybody tries to tell you you're dead

 

WHY WOULD THE GOOD PEOPLE @ POETS & WRITERS LIE TO YOU?

 

the choice between walking and crawling

 

i remember the future because it all turned out wrong

 

https://www.amazon.com/remember-future-because-turned-wrong/dp/B0CQVCMPWX

following poets, fucking priests

 

THE CUNT SITS AT HIS DESK, AND HE'S PLOTTING AWAY

 

(with thanks to The Twilight Sad)

all the happy songs about fucking

 

NOTES FROM A CENTURY DESTROYED BEFORE IT EVER BEGAN

 

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NOWHERE; NOW; NEVER

 

STILL KICKING ASS AT RAVENNA PRESS

 

                                 

                    Human Cathedrals by John Sweet - Ravenna Press

we are naked, you and i, in beds of regret

 

https://publishing173825309.wordpress.com/2024/08/15/the-ggp-collective-summer-quarterly-available/

sister

 

in the neverending kingdom of failure

 

the 21st century, but what did you expect?

 

SCREAMING INTO THE VOID SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO