AND WHO ARE YOU TO DENY THE TRUTH?

IF THIS IS WHERE WE ARE

AS UGLY AS TRUMP, AND JUST AS BIG AN ASSWIPE

Excellent epitaph from Charlotte, tho…...


"Don Imus was a racist, sexist clown, and it’s awful seeing notable white dudes in media go out of their way to say “yes but so important to radio” when I know your asses won’t give a shit when the next woman, person of color, or queer person dies who was important to radio." 
            - Charlotte Clymer

THEY ARE SLAUGHTERING PROPHETS DOWN ON MAIN STREET

new at

POLARITY

http://poetrybay.com/poembeat/winter2019-20/johnsweet.html

WE WILL ALL BE GHOSTS IN THE CITIES OF THE FUTURE

NO CURE FOR TERMINALLY STUPID

Imagine having to be the schlub who tells Douchebag Donny “Great speech, sir!” after he’s finished wiping the spittle off his chin.

Or some ignorant piece of shit in the audience applauding this brain-dead gibberish, yelling “Yeah, you tell them!!”

And who the fuck are “they”?

And what the hell does any of this “speech”  have to do with anything even remotely involving reality?


*********************************

“I never understood wind. You know, I know windmills very much. I’ve studied it better than anybody I know. It’s very expensive. They’re made in China and Germany mostly — very few made here, almost none. But they’re manufactured tremendous — if you’re into this — tremendous fumes. Gases are spewing into the atmosphere. You know we have a world, right? So the world is tiny compared to the universe. So tremendous, tremendous amount of fumes and everything. You talk about the carbon footprint — fumes are spewing into the air. Right? Spewing. Whether it’s in China, Germany, it’s going into the air. It’s our air, their air, everything — right?

You want to see a bird graveyard? You just go. Take a look. A bird graveyard. Go under a windmill someday. You’ll see more birds than you’ve ever seen ever in your life.

You know, in California, they were killing the bald eagle. If you shoot a bald eagle, they want to put you in jail for 10 years. A windmill will kill many bald eagles. It’s true. And you know what? After a certain number, they make you turn the windmill off. That’s true, by the way. This is — they make you turn it off after you — and yet, if you killed one, they put you in jail. That’s okay. But why is it okay for these windmills to destroy the bird population? And that’s what they’re doing.”

FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOUR ADDICTIONS

DEUCE  COUPE

NEW WORK FOR THE

HOLIDAY SEASON,

BUT NOT BECAUSE OF IT,

BECAUSE YOU CHRISTIANS ARE

A WORRISOME BUNCH

https://deucecoupe.wordpress.com/2019/12/25/two-poems-by-john-sweet-2/

WHEN THE MOVIE ENDS, THE DEAD MAN CLAPS

RIZA

https://rizapress.com/riza-issue-01/

pps 146-148,

because that’s where all the action is

TRUTH IN ADVERTISING

SONG FOR WHEN YOU GET TIRED OF THE PROMISES MADE BY LIARS AND WHORES

TIME EXISTS IN BLACK & WHITE

THE DESPERATE YEARS, IF I'M REMEMBERING CORRECTLY

BEST TO KEEP QUIET, TO BLEED CAUTIOUSLY

NEW

TO

YOU

@

THE

BLAKE-

JONES

REVIEW

https://www.blakejonesreview.com/poetry/1973/

.....AND THEN EVERYTHING LEFT UNSAID

WAITED ALL DAY FOR RAIN, BUT IT NEVER CAME

THE BLAKE-JONES REVIEW

Purveyors of choice words.

https://www.blakejonesreview.com/poetry/dreaming-golgotha/

AFTER ALL THIS TIME, STILL BELIEVING THE DEAD MAN WILL SAVE YOU

ONE CONTINUOUS MOMENT OF FEAR

SOME SERIOUS ZEN SHIT

WE WILL SPEND OUR LIVES BUILDING RUINS

THE LAST THING WE SAID

ALL OF THOSE USELESS GODS, AND HOW WE KILLED THEM

LET THAT BODY VIOLATE YOUR OWN

fresh  scum  at

THE SCUM GENTRY

https://the-scum-gentry-alternative-arts.com/john-sweet-poetry-the-occupation/

 

WITHOUT LAWS, IT'S ANARCHY

THE NEW ICE AGE, NOT WITHOUT WARNING

DEATH TO THE SELF-APPOINTED DEFENDERS OF DEMOCRACY

VICTIMS AND THEIR HISTORIES

these little wounds like party favors

and then twilight skies and
neon signs and then
down to rooftops


down to darkened rooms and
the pale silhouettes of ghosts
and i have been tasting
your pain for so long now
my mouth feels bruised


i have dreamt my son’s death
once and then twice


after this there can
only be winter

THE GODHEAD AS BLASPHEMY

the measure

i sound like anyone else here


like the silence of dying children
15,000 miles away,
and i didn’t cause all of the pain in the world,
and so i refuse to feel guilty for it


and so blame will be
forced upon me anyway

those darker days of salvation & prayer

and out there in the frozen

sunlight we wanted to be beautiful
or maybe just loved
but there was never any time

the car was in the shop and

the rent was late

the drugs didn’t work any more

i was sick of poetry and you were

tired of starving and
between us we knew all the words to
every song dee dee ever wrote

we believed in the myths even

after they’d been disproved

didn’t seem like too big a price to

pay for immortality

didn’t feel like spring

with snow in the forecast

baby was hungry and

the windows all broken

christ was a story i refused

to find comfort in

just one more beaten dog

crawling towards an unhappy ending

MY FATHER'S LAST YEARS; AN ABSTRACTION

MAX, CONSIDERING THE POSSIBILITY OF DOROTHEA LONG AFTER HIS DEATH

METAPHYSICAL PAINTING OF ALL FUTURE PAIN

THE FUNDAMENTALS OF BLISS

YOUR DEATH IS A GIVEN, AND SO WHAT?

LOST, NEVER TO BE FOUND AGAIN

THIS IDEA OF BLEEDING ON COMMAND

Some shorter pieces in the new

WINK

to help shore up the empty spaces.

Always nice finding a home

for the existential orphans.

https://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/1679170

 

DEEPER INTO THE KINGDOM OF NIL

THE PRACTICE OF HUMOR BEFORE DEATH

Because it's probably better than the other way around.

BEAUTIFUL CHAOS FOR YOUR EYES

Kenny Scharf

A BELIEVER IN BOTH SPACE AND TIME

YOUR ONE-STOP SHOP FOR STUPID

BLACK ON BLACK (AFTER REINHARDT)

you choose the enemy and

then you choose the weapon and
we are children here
which means that all death is a game

we are starving and

we are beaten

we are the other

all ways out

have been blocked

THE SUICIDE FACTORY WITHIN

poem while watching dali paint the iridescent sky

in the absolute heat,
in the shadows of trees,
                      of empty houses,
this silence built from soft breezes,
from freeway traffic on the
other side of the river


this moment defined by
sunlight on chrome


by the absence of all pain


spend your lifetime buried
beneath belief and the loss of
faith becomes inevitable


dig at your flesh to try and
find the better person buried
down deep inside and all you do
                                 is bleed

BECAUSE YOUR FEARS ALL FILL ME WITH JOY

CLEANSING THE PALETTE

SPRAY-ON HAIR FOR CONTEMPORARY FUCKWADS

Seriously, how is it all of these blood clots that work for Captain Cockwad all give off a child molester vibe?  

Is that part of the vetting process?

Well, okay - at least one of them probably has a meth head look, and maybe there's a serial killer, too.  The fun is in 
figuring out which is which!