Wolves by John Sweet

it’s a life wasted
waiting for the house to fall

waiting for the kids to go to sleep or
staying up all night staring at
the cracks in the ceiling

listening to the rain
                to the wind
                          snow
                          screams of the neighbors and
you never knew their names and you
never really wanted to

fucking face of god is everywhere

miracles and stillbirths and the
rich growing fat on
the corpses of the poor

disease
which is free
and then the cost of the cure

whatever list of enemies
you’ve been added to

whoever you’d gladly kill to
guarantee a better life for
the people you love

just keep pulling that trigger until
there’s nothing left but
sunlight & smiles

john sweet, b 1968, still numbered among the living. A believer in writing as catharsis. an optimistic pessimist. Opposed to all organized religion and political parties. Avoids zealots and social media whenever possible. His latest collections include A NATION OF ASSHOLES W/ GUNS (2015 Scars Publications) and APPROXIMATE WILDERNESS (2016 Flutter Press). All pertinent facts about his life are buried somewhere in his writing.