23 May 2018

Poem with a phrase by Bukowski, by Rethabile Masilo

The cells of my gullet jigger to James Brown,
eat the whisky I pour on them.
Fornicate.
They’ve grown merrier over the weeks.

I’m bound by what power they hold over me,
what secret they know,
some ace up their tiny sleeve.

At other times I get upset with them and say
"I know you’re in there". And they crank up
their R&B and fornicate some more
like they were doing before;

they are my cells and I'm their kingdom.
I live in spaces they fail to fill. I am
their tomb, at an edge and age
when time reneges, and voices die.



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