everything kills everything else, period, and the stones were always better than the beatles

 

              https://oddballmagazine.com/poem-by-john-sweet-3/

age of lust

 

like a statue of angels fighting

found in some empty field,

rust or blood streaming

from the eyes, the news of a new

and better god spilling from

inhuman mouths

 

i was starving when i met you

 

we were stained sheets and

broken furniture and

burning houses

 

we were the possibility of grace

 

you lose faith for just a

second, and it all falls apart

i am not a prophet but i have foreseen the death of your god

 

https://lodestarlit.blogspot.com/

the theory of sunlight on chrome

 

and so we die in the world we’ve created

 

fatima

or the way you speak with

a dog's voice

 

the flowers in autumn sunlight

 

each day shimmering and

choked with possibility

and the baby alive

 

the man who threw it onto

the highway dead

and was it pollock who

foresaw this?

 

were his words

as empty as christ's?

 

listen

 

don't spend every waking hour

in the house of truths

 

don't insist on meaning

 

the men you elected are

making money

from the butchered corpses of

soldiers

 

the fields your children play in

have been poisoned

 

and what if you have to choose

between your wife and

your lover?

 

what happens when the man with the

bright yellow gloves

turns out to be the killer?

  

two teenage girls found

chopped to pieces in the woods

forty minutes from my front door and

the way you can't quite remember

the name of the woman

beside you in bed

 

the possibility that she can't

remember yours

 

a life

yes

but why?

 

you drive home and

it's gone

 

you answer the phone and

it's your father

 

seven years dead

and he tells you he never

loved you

 

he tells you you're a failure

 

and the poem

can only be what it is

and the stories were never

meant to have morals

 

the man you call the

god of starving dogs is still

living somewhere in this town

and so is the waitress who

slashed her wrists because of him

and the idea of rape is what

they've always had

in common

 

and the moment you consider

admitting defeat

is the moment you've lost

 

you'll understand

when it happens

 

 

 

keep having these dreams about a waitress who insists she’s my wife

 

                                               https://floydshine.com/issue16-1.html