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