December 19-25, 2016: Poetry from David Lucas and John Sweet

​David Lucas and John Sweet

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​David Lucas
dalucas@ysu.edu

Bio (auto)

David Lucas is a poet/academic who lives in Youngstown, Ohio. He was an editor at the Penguin Review and a scriptwriter for the Youngstown Film Group. David has an MA in English from Youngstown State where he teaches composition and rhetoric.

The following work is Copyright © 2016, and owned by ​David Lucas and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.


That Couch

There was this couch
Electric blue
A real 80’s-deco-sorta-thing
It used to hover in our living room
Mostly unacknowledged
Except when it was
Kissing our asses
Drinking our anxiety
Observing our 2 AM drunken fights
the incredulous stares
the bad sex
the good sex (though it can’t remember)
Listening to the shortstop sentences
the hysterical prayers to deaf Gods
Watching all the silent meals
spent looking away from one another

It felt us weep
Stole our remotes
Our glasses
Our dreams

And then later, I think,
We threw it out
Ejecting it from the bones of an old house
To the curb
Then to the dump
Where it sits
Wasting with other memories
Under the deep infinite canvas

 



John Sweet
bleedinghorse99@yahoo.com

Bio (auto)

John Sweet sends greeting from the abstract wastelands of Endicott, New York. He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the need to continuously search for an unattainable and constantly evolving absolute truth. His latest collections are Approximate Wilderness (2016 Flutter Press) and A Nation of Assholes With Guns (Scars Publications). All pertinent facts about his life are buried somewhere in his writing. Visit John’s blog here.

The following work is Copyright © 2016, and owned by John Sweet and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

cover yr ears & shade yr eyes

sunlit hills straight down to
the edge of the parking lot and the
parking lot empty

weeds pushing up through
cracks in the pavement

belief is what’s brought you
this far, and then what?

insurance will pay for the abortion

the coup will fail

twenty thousand dead in the
blinding summer heat and all of
the survivors starving, but no one likes
a crybaby so just shut your mouth
and write your fucking poems

learn to levitate

consider what any government has
ever achieved by
killing the artists and the children

all theories bleed themselves
dry in the here and now