Poem by john sweet


 

the dead men, growing younger every year

this smeared grey sunrise over the burned down houses
and blacked out factories of some nowhere upstate town

dead trees and sleeping lovers and the ghostwhite
shapes of angels caught in the powerlines

the minotaur in silence

in old age and
then in death

all of this goddamn futility,
the wars and the suffering and the lie that
ewe are an intelligent species

gods created from shit and bile

shannon on her hands and knees,
fucked hard and paid in pain

paid with drugs

a good girl until she blows her head off, but none
of the starving children care and all of their days
                                         stretched end to end
                                   refuse to add up to a life

all of their lives added together
equal a number less than zero

the idea of faith turns to dust
the second it’s brought out into the light

 

Photography © Glenn Bowie

Photography © Glenn Bowie

 

john sweet, b. 1968 and still numbered among the living. a believer in writing as catharsis and a poor excuse for an american. all questions are answered in his poems.

Glenn Bowie is a published poet, lyricist and photographer from the Boston area. He also owns and operates an elevator company that supplies custom-built elevators for clients from New England to Hollywood. Author of two poetry and photograph collections (Under the Weight of Whispers and Into the Thorns and Honey) on Big Table Publishing, he donates all profits from his books to various charities for the homeless and local animal shelters. Glenn is also the official photographer for the Newton Writing and Publishing Center.

 

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