The Hard Cell

The advertisement told me that
I feel too much. That the body

is an unsafe hideout to harbour
a fugitive. The advertisement

stigmatized my life, until drawing
breath was such a shameful

act. Two rose-red scars bloomed
in my palms. My tongue was a gift

I could not return. Please, do not give me
a poem that is a manual in evasion, or

a poem that ducks the abrasive act
of the advertisement. Don't sell me

ointment or cosmetics. Hold my hand
and lead me down the long custard

buttressed path between the pylons
and the asphalt fields walk me into

the slaughterhouse and when
the slaughterman asks the hanging

carcasses, "Is there a spirit in the house
of blood?" have me raise my hand.

 

 

Green Juice Jewel Box Methadone Program

We grew dark and confectionary
locked in the sweet mouth of the myth
of the methadone cure. Green

lagoon, reclining in fathoms
of warm doom for the rotten-boned
nuisance nurslings. The lime linctus

calculus, counting out the years
of our lives lived trinket-small, inside
prescribed, glass medicine bottles.

Kidhood like a curiosity cabinet
of Victorian foetuses, formaldehyde
mummified, Blakean-gleam skin, shimmering

visionaries in the smack-clinic. 


Miggy Angel is the author of the poetry collection Grime Kerbstone Psalms published by Celandor books. He is the host and organiser of the monthly poetry event Speech Therapy, the facilitator of the Do Or Die Poets (a weekly creative writing workshop for people in addiction recovery) and is the poetry/fiction editor and founder of Burning House Press.