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November 28, 2022

poem drunk on blood

By John Sweet

poem drunk on blood

man with a gun in his
hand says you're already dead,

says the shape of christ
is a slippery thing,

a gift and a curse and a
technicolor lie and
when the trigger is pulled it
sounds like money.

and in a nation of corpses
          no one starves.

Article © John Sweet. All rights reserved.
Published on 2018-05-07
Image(s) © Sand Pilarski. All rights reserved.
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