Goodnews mememugh Karibo
Most times i flare,
beating the damn air.
Cursing the heart of adults, rolling deep in rage, black rage.i fly hills aloft beyond my reach.
I spit at me severally, the bloody stuttering that bites each word.
Other times i soar in the realm of blazing ecstacy.i jump the same hills, but this time on a soiled one.untie a devil's wail to the winds, loose the tempers to swim in oceans of emotion.
The growth i see in meagre, i savour the waving inside, bend my spirit and brood the darkness of it.
It dwells, sure it does dwell in the crevice far the abyss of my d.n.a,
bubbling in seasoned smearing of itself and its instigator.
But it is fascinating to my being, to my devices, i tool them to the fingers, to the heart and to the air.
I die a white man's death in it, i unravel the tied dark with it.
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