23 May 2018

Poem with a phrase by Bukowski, by Rethabile Masilo

The cells of my gullet break to James Brown,
gulp 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 small sleeve.

Sometimes I get angry at them and say
"I know you’re in there". But they crank up
their R&B and fornicate some more.

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



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