uncrowned king by John Sweet a man with hands of clay dreaming birds in flight across a silver sky a christ-junkie nailed to the future by his balls says it only hurts if he lets it says the pain is a more compassionate god than god doesn’t expect you to get the joke and he won’t stop bleeding all over the carpet he won’t stop trying to explain the significance of his bent and broken wings has faith that a lifetime of sincere lies will eventually outshine the truth sunlight finally on the last day of summer sense of dread replaced by the need to sleep sound of small animals dying horribly in the back yard sound of laughter made by mouths filled with sharpened teeth listen man is found hanging from a length of rope in his sister’s closet or is gunned down on a sunday afternoon one or the other, no in-between, and so the next century begins to take shape the idea of joy grows jagged rusty edges child tells you you have to hang onto it tightly says everyone bleeds says don’t be such a baby wakes you up just before you can remember his name

uncrowned king

by John Sweet

a man with hands of clay
dreaming birds in flight across a silver sky

a christ-junkie nailed to the
future by his balls

says it only hurts if he lets it

says the pain is a more
compassionate god than god

doesn’t expect you to get the joke and
he won’t stop
bleeding all over the carpet

he won’t stop trying to explain the
significance of his bent and broken wings

has faith that a lifetime of
sincere lies will
eventually outshine the truth