John Sweet

among the crippled and without grace

wherever you are is
the edge of the forest
and this man there with no face
no past
and when he holds out his hands
they are never quite empty

they are filled with fire
or with dust
and there is a phone ringing in
another room in a
different house

there is snow falling on the
bones of forgotten gods

it only seems fair
that some of us will starve


and all summer long
dogs digging up the bones of forgotten children and
always the threat of rain that never arrives

silver sun in a grey sky

the idea of love held up against the
idea of fucking and
found to be less and she says
no pity for the failed magicians

she says no mercy for the suicides and
both of us sit in the back seat knowing that
the driver has to die first

and all of us believe in the
failure of democracy

no end to the raped and the starving singing
songs of freedom and hope out
in your back yard and
who are you to
fight back against the age of greed?

who am i to argue against the
wisdom of jackals and crows?

doesn’t take a genius to see that
the enemy will always win

John Sweet © 2016