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between words and the fear of wordsTo John Sweet's previous piece     writing poems for the bones of burning widowsTo John Sweet's next piece

the sweet smell of junkie housewives

the planes come in
low over the trees

the sweet smell
of junkie housewives
fills the air

the priests have all
been crucified
the children set
on fire

we take turns
swinging axes through
the skulls of

we leave the ground
red with words

and flies swarm
and vultures circle
and dogs tear at
the meat

this is the true
value of art

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