Scissor Heroin

Scissor heroin!

Millimeters diving into bleeding eyes,

Reflecting pupils—murder one.

Officer, did I tell you before

That we fuckin breathed fire

And it burns our throats

To crooked coughs blowing an O:

Dreaming now in my cell,

Veins sucking syringe—

And sour whiskey words.

An early morning radio cracks the prisonyard din

Waking the birds, beckoning the commute—

Freedom fugitives forfeit bail,

Never for concrete air to intrude on the dream:

Two days outta jail running,

I can’t tell you what is true.


Under the fabulous dais

Of deposed Afrikan kings, gold,

In a space I’m stealing the echoes

Never swallowed by concertina cliffs

Or consigned to a vastness beyond parole.

I rode two days with a disease,

No metal food, body wallets, just free—

Just screaming planes

Missing the wind

Popping pressure in my ears

And other solitary cacti whistling

Their desiccated turbulence.

Under a nuclear sun

Beaches of melting plastic bottles

Give way to stinking deserts

Of glossy sand and untouching hands.


Day four I passed two windmills stuck in the ground

Wilting canvas petals into the muddy skies—

Canals and veins

Inflicted with the carrion of a future most likely.

Rows of faces dare to trip dreams

Piping laundry room streams of steam

Under the dub, the rain

Effacing and grey,

This street of mine—

Green houses orange houses,

Black and black—

I loved you.


A dedication to the dirty nothings

Descending angels of soot

Come down is a bitch…

Oily walls at night

Stale caged lights

Soaking cell blocks in

The blood and sepia piss

Of the singular masculine.

Whispers from the block reach me

When the horseback escape is done:

Wake up wake up wake up!

They just want you to think that you’re numb!

– Michaël Veremans

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