July 2005 / Volume Six / Issue Four
John Sweet
gunman kills seven, himself

and what the indians want
is their land back

what the days taste like is dirt

a waitress in the bathroom
snorting crank on one on the floor
with her wrists slashed

and both of them live and
who they hate is themselves and what they
find are men who will love them
for this

and do the stories even matter if you
know how they'll end?

is a dying sun as important
as the bank
foreclosing on your house?


all i've ever written about is myself

no one deserves to die on
their knees but it happens

look at lorca

look past him

all of these lives ruled by pain and fear

these trailers at the edge of town

at the edge of the highway

your boyfriend in a bedroom here
with someone else's wife

a hundred christs
nailed to a hundred crosses

beautiful in
the cold grey light of march
and then meaningless
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