Feb 10, 2009

I want out!

the dancer is you in the Savanna rains
When you ask the bus to go on forever
the looking glass is you when
Yu ask my buttocks of images in paraffin
roaring burning black in haephestus' furnace
the days are calabashes of dead palm wine
that blossom into red blood in the black ambulance
yu say your life is my presence
turned into destitute vocabulary

but I forget
Joan of Arc was White
Very White the paper of hell's menus blistered
and scalded my Steve Biko fingertips
When I looked back
the wayward bus was right in front of me
Its single tyre Cyclop's smarting eye

When they began talking of digris

She looked at me at my empty silence
but you write write poems
how come you got no degrees?

the stamps in this detention mind
turn livid like a charon capsizing in Urine
the smudges on my face is debating faeces
the wormz these my fingers are typewriter keys
the Cry in the raining nyt trying
to mangle the english language

my dreadline is close
I have taken my poems
I'll get the books when I
bring your money
the typewriter was neva mine

When the becomes so real
and the poem refuses to end
enslaving to write all hours
know longer have tears to cry
when I insisted on paying the bill
and yu knew I had no monies
and stared as I ate piles and miles of
spaghetti bread yu didnt know
that was my first meal in 4 days I
never said fasting was voluntary
Out the Savanna music kinged
for appearance's sake
lets hold hands

between pages of blazing gasps
your thighs when they crush me are delirium bantustans
and the flags
words from Senghor silences the Wind!

The Winter moon imprisons girls
poetessez with thighs like akhmatova
blood red blobs drop on this poem

Im not trying to emphaSIZE!
the blooddrops in my plate
Scarlet a red soup of gritty tears
gravel of brain sawdust
on the drill of time(s)
What race was scipio africanus

the rains in the Savanna dance you

Phillip Zhuwao

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