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Flash Fiction


Poetry by John Sweet



resurrecting kasmir malevich in the age of despair

not white as in
but as in empty

the sky
for example
or the streets beneath
their skin of salt
and grime

the smell of something
reduced to its core

a man tied to a truck
with a length of chain and
dragged until his skin
peels from his bones

maybe a young girl found
in the desert after
the animals have been
at her

not vanished but


and the wind moves
without effort through
these walls and the
windows rattle against the
sound of the freeway

i offer
the same bitter stories
over and over
with the hope that they
will eventually catch

i refuse to
define myself as either
innocent or guilty

others are waiting to
make this decision
for me





About the Author


As for a bio, I live with my wife and our young son here in the wastelands of upstate new york. I've been writing for 19 years now, publishing in the small press for 13. I hate all schools of poetry, and try to keep my distance from any that seem to be trying to get too cozy with me. My work can be found at Burning Word, Locust Magazine, and Thunder Sandwich. A couple of my chapbooks are available through contacting the editors at Kitty Litter Press and Via Dolorosa Press. My full-length book human cathedrals should be out in December, sells for $9.50, precise details can be obtained from the editors at www.ravennapress.com. My email address is bleedinghorse99@aol.com, for anyone who wants to condemn me or damn me with faint praise.