John Sweet

the death days

says that fucker camus

says the idea of ideas, and i
see what he means but i 
still believe in both words and the
silences between them

i still believe in love as something
more than some cynical
top 40 hit

and sid, who killed nancy,
or sid, who didn’t, but she’s dead either
way while the ghost of god endures

and were you drunk on the
night you pulled the trigger?

jesus

just give me a straight answer, okay?

spare me all of that
patti smith bullshit

spare me rimbaud & burroughs &
horses and all of 
that vacuous 1975 hipster crap

all of that self-righteous sanctity

what’s left at the end of each day
is a false king waiting to
rape your children

a ship filled with fire moving
slowly towards some new world

the death days, which we
always mistake for
the best times of our lives