A popular trashpile on every block

The notes of this accordion—
the loco squeak and wheeze—
won’t bring back my love—
Listen to this drug addicto beg and plead:
This is my sad triste song,
If you have a corazon quebrado
You can sing along.

What is the half life on these words on paper,
the words scrawled on walls?
Will they decay or ferment
or spend the day checkin stalls
trying to score yay
and voting their lives away
in a carnival election
that’s already been paid.
The cool kids don’t know what they were doing
They just chill, smoke pot and fuck—
(it’s) not candles they gather around
a popular trashpile on every block.

Once was a poet
now am a fighter
I used to use my pen
but now I reach for my lighter.
For what is a life passed in nostalgia’s embrace?
When the past was a warzone
and the future, the future ablaze,
is heading blunt force this way.

But it smells like some kind of smoke again.
And all of us just got left out here
like a cooked up rock.
Like blunt guts on the metro floor—
a popular trashpile on every block.

– Photos and Glitter by Eydie McConnell Words by Michaël Veremans

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