1.
in the land of starving babies
in the land of smokestacks and poison
where wise men ring broken bells
you start the song, but the
car spins out of control
crashes through the crowd, and the
earth here is flat and thick with blood
the factories sleep without dreaming
the lovers are less than they appear
2.
in the empty house,
a burning candle
in the alleyway,
a woman on her knees
i get tired of the sound of
my own voice out here
i get sick of the grey,
of the cold,
of all the suicides
of all the need
we pick a place to begin
saving the world, and
everything else falls apart
— 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).