Portent

“i was king

in the year of burning

we were gods

                                                           

told stories in the

shadows of swaying buildings

in the shadows of burned out cars,

and at every trailer  women gave us their daughters”

“A Flag On Fire Is A Song O Hope,”

by John Sweet the reluctant king looking

o’er the miserable gathered.

They love company.

Dionysius can keep his sword.

Regardless of wasteful bureaucracy

they’d set the emblems ablaze.

These days justice take sides

battle flags and call letters.

‘with claws for hands,

With yellow teeth and then,

When the machine gun was finally invented,

They finally knew there was something more fulfilling than saving lives.’

Could all of said misery could be ended

with a swing of the executioners blade?

And the miserable gathered cheer for the only

‘and i had to be

made to understand that my words

weren’t poems

was given a flag

was given a shovel  

no one would acknowledge

any of the bones i found

the kingdoms

i built from them’

(portent)

and laughter an meaningless joy

‘the storm and then the

Silence before the storm that follows

Pale yellow skies over car crashes

and prayers and the

steady buzz of insects

the river

where your son took his life.

‘you tired of being told

What to do but so what?

Your choices come down to a

Diet of bitter shit

or a diet  of starvation,

and even these are offered grudgingly’

“A Flag On Fire Is A Song O Hope,”

is not for deeper understanding.

Pulling my member from its depths.

Eyeballs peeled from the windshield of constant sameness

and ignorance as this vehicle goes off the road.

This book isn’t for the chanters, agitators. The disaffected.

The belly full of…

It is for the blood. It is for the streets. It is for the burn

and whatever is in its way.

Reviewed by Godfrey Logan