BoySlut

the kingdom, denied

in these sepia-toned rooms of

memory i relive

25 years of drowning

in the season of ascension

we eat only dust

and i have these pictures and i

have these poems and i am

not sorry for being thin

enough to fade from view

i have no use for your

anger and none for your pain

we were there at the table

when the bullet

caught christ in the throat

i was fucking your

sister on the afternoon my

grandfather took his

own life and

listen –

confession isn’t art

the starving know enough

to view your god as nothing

more than so much meat

all magic is contained w/in

the moment of revelation

and then all that’s

left is dust

a long way from home, and bleeding

everything revealed,

but not until we’re all dead,

and this is just the way it works

i love you

but it’s not enough

i hate my life,

and how ordinary is that?

was there ever anything to do, really,

but fuck and get high?

listen

the trick is to forget the past and

close your eyes against the future

the trick is to never stop moving

we kill what we fear,

we become what we hate and

maybe this finally explains my father

maybe a mouthful of broken glass

is all any of us really need

nothing ever feels as good as

the pain

we can share with others

*read John Sweet`s bio here

Hangnail

i WILL write you

this poem     even if it takes

whiskey, leonard cohen &

biting your fucking fingernails

to finish it!