raped and slaughtered


there are truths
to be found in brutality

history
is nothing more than
women raped and
slaughtered

than children raped
and set on fire

than men forced
to watch their wives
and children
tortured

we've fucked up
every chance we
ever had

i'll murder
all of your gods if
that's what it takes
to make you
understand



suburban angst poem


you say you miss
someone

anyone
or possibly everyone

polite lies
because that's what's
expected

and when you write me
you tell me you laughed
at my suburban
angst poem

were bored by my
murdered children

by my whining
and bitching
and moaning

this is good
this sharpened honest
knife

this is what i want

we're both [parasites
so let's admit it

we bleed
and grow old
and wait for the dogs
to rip us to pieces

the only words worth
saving are
the ones clawed
out of soft throats

you'll know
what to do with them
when the first nail is
hammered home



bastard


this kid crying
on the side of the road

his dog dead next to
him

crushed

april wants to pull over
but i keep
my foot on the gas

explain that there's
nothing we can do

and she moves herself
as far away from me as
possible

asks
how long i've been
a total fucking bastard

"all my life"
i say

any other answer
would be a lie



a bed without memory


always
a strange room

sunlight through
an eastern
window

a television
a cluttered table
a bed without
memory

and when
the phone rings
don't answer

when the windows
shatter inward
run

exile
is a talent

embrace it

remember that
your future is
already becoming
a minor part of
someone else's
past



- John Sweet 2001