words as weapons on some gleaming sunday afternoon, says i love you says i hate you and she’s a liar says we are always reaching the end, but then what? wind across the river’s surface small children asleep in pale blue rooms each poem is only one small moment and every moment is equally unimportant rain and then sunlight god as a failure of imagination as an externalization of fear we live and we die and then we’re forgotten and what more did you want? why did you think falling in love would be the ultimate victory? i am not a believer in pain, but here we are anyway
John Sweet sends greetings from the rural wastelands of upstate NY. 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).
