image of christ appears on an
empty billboard just north of town
but this is not hope
dead men are not the future
let the dogs run wild
let the children live in fear
taste of gasoline should be
enough to keep them going
the promise of pain and
abandoned shopping malls
everything broken and
seen from a distance
bulldozers and small unnamed
lakes of blood
the ashes of everyone that
no one will remember
it’s a big fucking world so
it’s a big fucking number
happy?
sure
find the hole in the wall where the
mice get in or the one in the sky
where all the light pours out
think about your father’s death
has it happened yet?
it will
and you tell me that all you want is
an apology but from who?
for what?
grow up already
january and five below zero and
it’s not gonna change any time soon
we are all defined by
our failure to escape
hope matters
but it doesn’t save you
learn this young, maybe, and
give yourself a fighting chance
find yourself a temporary peace between
the vultures and the buzzards,
between the jackals and the wolves
call it home but be
prepared to run and remember
that this is not hope, no,
but it’s all we have
it’s who we are
no gods and no devils and so the blame
for what we cannot achieve,
for the atrocities we commit, is a
bigger burden than most of us
are willing to bear
the idea of suicide remains
unspoken but constant
the idea of crawling naked
across frozen rivers,
or of breathing just beneath the ice
of losing the sun
you open your eyes, finally,
after a lifetime of blindness,
and it’s gone
— JOHN SWEET
John Sweet sends greetings from the rural wastelands of upstate New York. He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in compassionate nihilism which, as luck would have it, has all the best bands. His published collections include NO ONE STARVES IN A NATION OF CORPSES (2020 Analog Submission Press) and THERE’S ONLY ONE WAY THIS IS GOING TO END (Cyberwit, 2023).