living like a wounded animal, which isn’t really the same thing as living

 

OTOLITHS

 

Always a pleasure

 

https://the-otolith.blogspot.com/2022/02/john-sweet.html

 

 

 

 

 

 

[SHIFT THE GROUND, CATERPILLAR MAN]

 

let your pain define you

 

the earth, dying beneath your feet

 

[in ugly times, an ugly mind]

 

blood followed by laughter,

torture by justifications and

what does it mean when

your lies sound like

prayers?

 

who do you fuck and

what does it cost when you

no longer separate love

from pain?

 

which god will you turn to

now that the only one

you know is dead?

all we have to fear is the food we eat and the air we breathe

 

the great experiment will

probably be

winding down soon.

 

100 mostly-ignored posts

feels about right

 

https://www.instagram.com/faith.in.nothing/

 

 

 

 

 

 

we are a bloodsoaked army of one, you and i

 

SCARS

PUBLICATIONS

 

inexplicably publishing me for

26 years, now

 

ya gotta do a little

navigating,

but eventually you’ll find the

JOHN SWEET

page.

 

2 new ones:

grey on grey

a breadcrumb trail through the palace of human frailty

 

 

http://scars.tv/cgi-bin/framesmain.pl?writers

 

 

 

 

 

the nothing from nothing that will come to define all of our lives

 

QUAIL BELLE

 

http://www.quailbellmagazine.com/the-unreal-20/poetry-a-love-poem-from-the-upstate-desert-late-february-by-john-sweet

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

born to die on the wrong coast

 

fuck god before he can fuck with you

 

IT’S STILL THERE.

 

YOU STILL

NEED IT.

 

https://www.lummoxpress.com/lc/product/the-century-of-dreaming-monsters/

 

 

 

 

 

you kill what you love, and you kill what you hate

 

LOCH

RAVEN

REVIEW

 

https://thelochravenreview.net/john-sweet-2/

 

 

 

 

 

throw the baby in the wishing well

 

a way to kill only the truly deserving

 

the bottom of someone else's blood-red sea

 

her sister says the only way out is down

 

an absolute honor to be in

THE SOUTH SHORE

REVIEW

 

https://southshorereview.ca/author/jsweet/

 

 

 

 

 

spent a long time trying to kiss your scars away

 

the holy angel of blasphemy, upon arrival

 

not a poem but a

                painting

 

a certain day

 

sunlight, but

frost in the shadows

between houses

 

a man with a gun or a

child left

to drown in the bathtub

 

soft music on the radio

 

and was this the year you

filmed your best friend

raping some drunken, passed-out

teenage girl, or doesn’t that

help narrow it down?

 

was it the year of the last

unjust war or was it

maybe the start of the next one?

 

all of this pain &

laughter becomes a blur

and it’s not a painting but a

photograph i keep in

a forgotten desk drawer

dead white tree rising up from

its own reflection in

the center of a flooded field

 

blue sky

 

endless grace

 

the last of the snow on the

far sides of the hills and

the obvious knowledge that

here was never worth as

much as there

 

the thirty years i spend

waiting for you to reappear

 

the first flowers of spring

filigreed with crystals of ice

 

and powerlines at some point

strung between dull grey

poles, but no buildings

 

no signs of human machinery

 

the hum in my head that

passes for truth

when i close my eyes

and if you close your eyes, all directions are the same

 

some oldies at

Carcinogenic Press

 

i was younger then,

but just as bitter

 

GO  TEAM  ME

 

http://www.carcinogenicpoetry.net/search/label/John%20Sweet

all of this meaningless wasted sunlight

 

something new in

WINK

https://www.magcloud.com/browse/issue/2195761

 

 

always the smell of blood/always the smell of gasoline

 

AND WE WILL MAKE

SUCH BEAUTIFUL GHOSTS

 

STATIONS OF THE CROSS