THE KINGDOM OF ABSENT LIGHT

the kingdom of absent light

and are you dying
because that’s all you were
ever taught to do?

are you living with the
sharpened teeth of christ
buried deep in your throat?

he will sing his song of
redemption through a
mouthful of your blood if
that’s what it takes
to get a laugh

he will rape your children
like any good politician

we will all get high on
the taste of his tears

because every corpse look the same in the end

the cool kids taking turns
fucking you up the ass down
by the river after school,
blondest one says shut up you
faggot says you know you
like it and he pulls his
pants up, holds out his hand,
tags the next guy in, and it’s
only a matter of time before
everyone here is dead

it’s only a matter of time
before none of this
matters at all

a box or a bag

in the grey light
at the edge of the city
in the spaces between buildings

not war
but the idea of it

silence and dust and the
hands of the men in power
and what they want to feel is
the give of your throat

what they fear is knowledge

the way it can be turned
into hope

one hand giving

all your premonitions
of morrison’s death

all your empty words about
crossing the ocean

twenty years of half-truths
and blank pages
of wolves devouring the weak and
the forgiven

junkie gets out of
the burning house alive but
leaves the children behind

pilate leads the parade

gotta celebrate the good times

gotta get some better drugs

being fucked up is the best
place to start
but there needs to be more

time, in all directions

or the minor acts of dead men

of forgotten lovers

you live in the past
present
or future
and make no apologies

am i inventing you
correctly here?

fifteen wasted years and
then five good ones
and then the cancer

the phone call from his sister on a
weekend i was out of town and
what if i tell her the joke but
forget the punchline?

there are other lives at stake here,
you understand

gods taking bullets and
newborn babies set on fire and
all of the pits being dug by
anonymous soldiers on the
edges of factory towns

all of the wars that are started
while we sleep

all of the letters from home
that get lost along the way

never knew you were loved
until it was
too late to matter

John Sweet, b. 1968, still numbered among the living. A believer in writing as catharsis. Opposed to all organized religion and political ideologies. His latest collections include the A DEAD MAN, EITHER WAY (2020 KUNG FU TREACHERY PRESS) and the limited edition chapbook NO ONE STARVES IN A NATION OF CORPSES (2020 Analog Submission Press). All pertinent facts about his life are buried somewhere in his writing.