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