YA  KHAFIDH                   (invoking The Downsizer)
			I can’t count the words the stones the hills the bones the spills of mud & thrilling blood against gun.                                                               Cos I’m not one. I can’t count the skins the blocking out of evil things we did to grab the land they’re had.                                                           I’m better off gone. My days are adding up song by chanting song I take back from the clutch of money cycled wrong. I’m running piling these lines up like markers no one knows: my life slowly goes in this admission I know I’m missing those talking walks around the ground my country’s fathers’ stole. We’re low; we’re low, the lowest of the Banjo, the recital of the brutal, the concerto of denial, the calypso of mistrial to inferno their old title burnt in smugness’ silent blindness I cannot deny headed & imbedded                                                                              inside me & mine.
	previous                                                                                                                                                        next