FUCK YOU, DEAD MAN, AND FUCK THE SHADES OF GREY YOU CALLED LIFE

DEAD MAN IN A DEAD MAN'S DREAM

ANOTHER

UNLIKELY

STORY

https://www.unlikelystories.org/content/the-feeling-the-fine-art-of-kneeling-and-can-you-tell-me-where-it-went-wrong

the child, cut in two

not the dying man

but his reasons

 

his hands

which are grabbing

 

which are empty and so

what would you

fill them with?

 

the bones of his children

is an obvious answer

so look past it

 

reinvent the circle

if you have to

 

build a better bomb

 

we have been in this desert

too long now and eating

nothing but the dreams

of the starving

 

we have been bleeding

for as long as we can

remember but

listen

 

every day brings us

closer to a darker age

 

every war is the one

that cannot be lost

 

this is what we tell the

widows as

we undress them

OBEY, MOTHERFUCKER.....

THERE IS ALWAYS ONE LAST SONG TO SING OUTSIDE THE SUICIDE FACTORY

FINDING BETTER DRUGS FOR THESE DARKER DAYS

SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE, WAS PAID GOOD MONEY TO DESIGN THESE

smoke

this man found hanging in the

house of truths

and that you know him

 

that every lie is remembered

 

every act of brutality

repeated without end

 

stone to blade to automatic weapon

and it's never really HOW

a man was killed but HOW MANY

 

it's never WHY but TO WHAT END

 

and there are reasons found wanting

and there are those that i applaud

and there is this man found hanging

and then cut down in time

 

there is hatred in any direction

you can aim it

 

there is whoever it hits

 

now is never the time for mercy

WE WERE NOWHERE; WE WERE ALMOST THERE

WITH EYES WIDE OPEN, WITH WINGS OUTSTRETCHED

ACTUALLY, IT'S STILL PRETTY FUNNY

Especially when it involves a delusional cockwad who runs for President and says "I Could Stand In the Middle Of Fifth Avenue And Shoot Somebody And I Wouldn't Lose Any Voters".

She's holding a pretty hefty amount of

fertilizer there.....

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE RUMOR OF YOUR DEATH OR THE LIE THAT IS YOUR LIFE

ADELAIDE!!!!!!

http://adelaidemagazine.org/p_john_sweet_36.html

 

THIS IS THE NEWS OF WAR

WE WILL POSSIBLY

ROCK DOWN TO

LINDEN AVENUE

 

http://lindenavelit.com/diorama/

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

BEAUTY, EVEN IN THIS FASCIST AGE

WITH ARMS OUTSTRETCHED, WITH THE NAILS ALL DRIVEN HOME

sleepless

don't give me the gift

of jesus christ

don't tell me that faith

carries the same weight

as anger

who would you kill

without regret?

silence is one lie

denial another

at some point

every age becomes the

age of gold

we are all worth more

or less

than someone else

we are never enough

and maybe you recognize this as

the root of all wars

maybe you believe in

blind absolutes like good and evil

a young boy left in a

department store

by his mother's boyfriend

the mother dead and

her body hidden

and what happens next is that

the world moves on

the boy pushes beyond the

edge of the poem

grows up

or possibly doesn't

like others i've known

billy drunk and unconscious

in a burning car

linda devoured by cancer

always the phone at two a.m.

and the faint smile in

the voice on the other end

this girl at the door who says

she just needs

a place to spend the night

says she'll fuck you

but that needs a ride to

her cousin's house in the morning

says her prescription ran out

two weeks ago

and she can't afford any more

asks for a beer

a cigarette

says she hasn't slept in

three days and in the

morning she won't look at you

doesn't want to hear about

pollock or picasso and when you

get back home you

notice that the money's gone

from your wallet

you consider all of the lies

your father ever told you

all of the reasons you have

for hating them

and the way that all it makes you

is tired

the way his friends

disappeared after picking

the corpse clean and now

here i am seven years later with

my wife and children

with nothing in the bank

and the mortgage due

with this anger which can

feed me for

another hundred years but which

burns the skin from my

family's bones

which makes me as hateful a

god as any of yours

my hands moving always

without regret

IN TROUBLED TIMES, A TROUBLED MIND

I miss this wordless rage and razor-sharp beauty........

WELCOME HOME, ASSHOLE

A SONG OF HOPE IN THIS AGE OF DESPAIR

THE TRUTH CAN ONLY EVER BE WHAT IT IS

WHEN I DIED FOR THE SECOND TIME

DEATH TO KING FIST

TAKING YOUR PLACE IN A NATION OF CORPSES

YOU ALWAYS BELIEVE WHAT YOU'RE TOLD TO BELIEVE

WALKING AWAY FROM THE KINGDOM

I ASSUME IT WAS A CRACK HEAD OR A TRUMP SUPPORTER.....

Stupid fuck down the street couldn't wait for the 4th, 

decided to use fireworks

to burn his house down on the 2nd.

and no one cares about your precious pain

writes me a letter,

tells his girlfriend she has to leave

 

tangled up in blue on the car radio,

says he never liked dylan

 

says he never liked the stones

 

steps onto the railing then out into the

open air above the

river but the story gets confused here

 

says he needs to tell it right

 

shows me his wrists but

they have no scars

 

sits on the bed in a foreclosed

room and pulls the trigger

 

girlfriend too stoned to move and

the kids watching tv and

that these are the last great days

 

the songs of angels written

across filthy walls

 

gotta eat gotta fuck gotta

pray but honey’s too wired to sleep

 

paces the halls of this cardboard

house and all it does is rain

 

no apologies

 

no saviors

 

stabbing in the parking lot of the

mini-mart on the first

day of the season of ascension, he

lies there bleeding, asks me

if i’ve got a light, if i’ve got a smoke,

and i tell him i just want to

get back home

 

ask him if this is the

right story and he just smiles

 

sound of sirens approaching as

i push my way through the

wolves and the vultures,

and i think about sunlight

 

i think about my

grandfather’s suicide

 

how blind hatred drags each of

us in all directions at once