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The man-child points his rifle
The man-child points his rifle at me. I unbraid time; relinquish my right to cry for his losses. Both our eyes are open, looking at nothing.
Read moreTop this.
Top this. And he unbuttons the flannel, revealing etched ripples of flesh & a blooming fountain of scars. They ohh and put their guns down.
Read moreMy father cries when Miriam Makeba sings
My father cries when Miriam Makeba sings, “Benkuphi ma madoda.” “Soweto,” he weeps, “I still carry my stones. For Paul. For my tongue.”
Read moreOn top of the wet earth
On top of the wet earth, I marvel at the blank stare of the night. How I can be lost between nature? When he’s done, I am no longer naive.
Read moreHe's a bastard, a brute
He’s a bastard, a brute, a run on sentence too gauche to bother with punctuation. Sandy isn’t in love with him, but his hog; the rev, vroom.
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