Head Shop ft. Holden Lyric

I.

They found a body at the intersection of Rideau yesterday; stabbed
over blow, whispers insist. His face gone Van Gough, spatter preferring
Picasso.

Police declared him John Doe,
prime suspect wishful.

So they held a vigil by the head shop,
both laymen and cops,
to lament what was lost;

(silence)

a junkie he was but
that junkie was loved in
the sense some
die too young,

before they have
the chance to
turn around.

II.

Take one.

Place unmarked pills in the
palm of begging hands.

I don’t spare
them a glance, only a motion;
let them slide down my
throat without
sugarcoating the
size.

(Out of sight.)

Are you
out
of your mind?
If I can’t feel it,
I can’t be it

loved

(pained)
or small,
hated,
revered, adored
or feared
as
time hell
bent on
moving forward slows to
a crawl.

Your crisis of crime is
my pandemic; your
wards and
forfeitures our
lifelong hemorrhage.

Yes, we received the
fucking message but our
answer’s
still
no.

III.

So later, they arrest some Joe
on the corner of
Wellington,
known for his
habits but hardly
for peddling them,

true minority
of men in the
appendices of common sense,

buried far down as
his former acquaintance,
and not another
speck of

evidence
otherwise.

IV.

Take two.

Take these maps and
misdirection and make a
home in between the lines
beneath freeways and
streetlights.

Let the city
envelop you, engineer
your mind into a constant
stream of stopping and going
and getting to where it is
you’re designed (destined)
to end

( up )

V.

Flowers hang at the crosswalk;

a proxy laid for the lesson we’ve ingested time and again with every
forced entry and every child lost; every son that’s been shot and every
daughter caught between

a rock and her free base.

The red lights flash but nothing truly to stops to reflect because
someone’s always turning or revving or worming through the dredge.

And we can’t repent, now, can we?

We mentor our children
addiction is filth
and not
something built in
a choice or series of choices that drowns out all
the voices it’s
poised to relieve.

How does sickness become a source of guilt?

Well, you see; it starts by filling gaps in our knowledge with prejudice,
spit on that shit and polish it until I can see the mirage that assuages
us of the politics.

Leave the writ to
drop because what does your apathy
cost? Some cheap
tulips and props?

Stationed at headlights?

You know, I believe I saw
something of that
nature travelling
home, but I wouldn’t know
a protest from my
left elbow,
so I drove

on
past it, don’t even think
I slowed.

There was another one just like
it on a
guardrail down
the road.

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One thought on “Head Shop ft. Holden Lyric

  1. Favorite passage so far:

    Take these maps and
    misdirection and make a
    home in between the lines
    beneath freeways and
    streetlights.

    Nasty nice!

    Also powerful:

    Leave the writ to
    drop because what does your apathy
    cost? Some cheap
    tulips and props?

    Liked by 1 person

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