The Junking Ballad of Earling Mid-Morning

A little spoken word poem. Enjoy it at your pleasure...

7.30am Gorge de Loup standing in the raining doing my renting money again feeling like shitting no needles pharmacy opening at 9 getting the yawnings methadone all going sweating it out on metro dirty clothing filthy fingering heading down towning feeling like shitting burning tearing cracking lips and sores on my face.

Two grams in handing no cleaning syringes pharmacy sleeping 9am opening feeling like shitting soaking in sweating stinking 'tween workers backing the metro gotting the yawnings burning eyes rawing heading on home n god damning those shit lazing pharmaceutical workings.

An hour to killing to get out of jailing feeling like shitting guts full of sicking big nose keeps dripping 2 grams in handing riding the Metro green line the D line the one auto driving am making it homing and maybe thanksgiving muscles up cramping convulsive gagging watching the second hand ticking an tocking.

Sold to the hard life live hand to mouthing rushing through tunnels an' black carbon dusting could be the night~time these early mornings making it homing diss honest grafting shovelling shitting pot handling digging chasing the ghostings back through the old town waiting on something zero to nothing guts swaying rough seas handing to mouthing crawling the hallway sicking the dog's bowl groaning and weeping damning the clocking 8.45ing making to leaving limping like deaths gripped around my left leg.

Loyal 9aming clocking in staffing pharmacy open 2 grams in handing needing some stocking Christmas steriboxing one euro two needles forgetting 'bout shitting striding the long stride sweating this morning junkie speed walking got all that I needing keys in my handing rattling sounding god blessing the landlord and Bulgarian gangsters.

Salut filthing bedsit salute the rain shining the rhyme pitter pattering softly outsiding do devil play kindly no blood bath this morning a quick cooking filter quick finding the lining good drawing good swabbing tying the meating probing a home run a big fly Babe Ruthing nectaring honey flowing upstreaming the lurch of the D train barebacking its sleepers curing my sicking my yellowing fever laying so lowing kissing pink tilings spilling all worry clean outing my minding nodding down heading syringe free falling strung out for drying through the sweet middle morning.

Thanks for reading/listening... All My Best, Shane. X


Anonymous said...

Hey Shane
Gut wrenching. Until it's not. Thank you

Unrelated: Googling The Void Ratio results in some fascinating studies on soil density. I'm now quite knowledgeable on the subject of porosity and if you've a spare four hours I'll pop 'round and catch you up. Be prepared though, there will be maths.

At long last, I spoke to Karolina and it's in the post!

Many thanks

Fee said...

Beautifully tragic as always Shane... Hugs xxx

Shane Levene said...

Thank you Fee My Darling... Keep well and I'll do the same.. X

Anonymous said...

The first time I read this I didn't appreciate the skill required to craft a piece in this manner. The more I read it the more facinated I become with your word choices and appropriations. Bravo on taking literary risks - often more of a showing of soul than the content.


Anonymous said...

Wow the way you write is intriguing. I don't think I've ever read a passage written in this manner before. I too am a junkie. I appreciate your body of work. Thank you.

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