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or my son
who says he wants a gun

who says he loves me

or the way the girl is drunk
when she falls
from a third story window

is nineteen and dead
and what she leaves behind is a
two year-old daughter that
no one wants

what the rain does is fall like
it'll never end

friday
then saturday then
sunday and still no sign from
anyone's god

no apologies to the
indians and nothing to
build from their bones but
strip malls and mini-marts

nothing to give my children
but small piles of
bitter words

their pale
perfect hands always
hoping to grab what
i hold just out of reach

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About John Sweet


John Sweet, born 1968, is married, a father of 2, and opposed to all that is evil. He has been living in the vast wasteland that is upstate New York for the majority of his life, is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the idea that true democracy is a myth. A full length collection of his work, HUMAN CATHEDRALS, is available from www.ravennapress.com. All pertinent facts about his life can be found somewhere in the vast piles of his unpublished works.

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