the daydream years

this stoned and frozen grace
so much like words carved into thin air
like sunlight seen through blue ice or
the bones of some dead surrealist
dug up and arranged into a
more primitive shape

the idea of mexico or
the desert of southern california

the point of escape
which i’ve never understood

pretty girls with scars are
pretty girls with scars no matter
where they are

the window is open
but no one jumps
we’ve got a long way

to drive
before this shit finally kicks in

that sunshine smile

not the truth but
the junkie’s truth

not death but
the junkie’s death

a mouthful of shit and
some heartfelt thanks

a room without
windows or doors

and you will spend your life
crawling in circles
and you will learn to like it

you will be fucked by dogs,
will be raped in the wilderness,
                             and so what?

are you someone?

is this place anywhere?

no one cares if your song
gets played on the radio

no one cares if your children
                      died in the fire

we are a nation of whores

we are dali’s premonition
                      come to life

a body tearing
itself in two

a radiation desert running up
hard against an
ocean of shit and piss

if there is one thing
we will all be,
it’s forgotten in the end

John Sweet sends greetings from the wastelands of upstate NY. He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the continuous search for unattainable truths. Recent poetry collections include Heathen Tongue (2018 Kendra Steiner Editions) and A Dead Man, Either Way (2020 Kung Fu Treachery Press).