H A R D C A N D Y

Junkies have a way of finding scars
screams never seem to fade
rain, it’s like boils in the city
sometimes,
sometimes when it rains all the filth and scum
and piss and shit
actually washes down the sewers
and a new air struggles through the concrete alleys
concrete streets
avenues
bars
night clubs where the hard candy melts
where the hard candy bleeds
sweltering
like new children born in the darkness of the vein
the breathing of the night
the squeeze of the jazz and the ecstasy
the sucking of the flesh
like a cold contagious hunger
with soft teeth buried in warm flesh
but the night will pause for the heroin needle
the heroin sunrise
as the air drops the way glass smashes against subway exit signs
as the flesh of the city
is cut by drunks and the scum urinating on the scars of
dead flowers
dead photographs
dead visions
hard candy
the junkies dance in this carnival
this suicidal psycho Cinderella circus
this crystal crack cocaine candle
with the crows and the pigeons and the prostitutes
down on Broadway and 68th the hard way
and like Andrew says,
“city vultures never have to leave the ground.”
so fuck the scars
feel the sound.

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