Go hard, go easy;
the hills set
in the folds of an orange afternoon
a country rises from the mist
...
dressed in allover blue
the clocking of your card
momentary freeze-frame
before
...
during the week nelson mandela died
death lost its sting
a small yellow bird came
...
they are out tonight
white paint conceals their oh so normal faces
the wild chanting
hides well their normalness and neighbourness
...
from the bottom draw
i withdraw my things
wrapped in a piece of musty cloth
...
We write what we like
because
when some of us die
or disappear, like jensma
...
(my homecoming)
you get off the train
step into a griminess
...
the languid lion lifts his mane
tattoo-like scars on forelimbs & face
the aftermath of many scraps, once to the edge
of life; an easy-like-sunday-morning gaze
...
A surface of quotidian streets
and slow steps
the time, with few seekers
too many defenders
...
The queen
came walking
down the generations
down terraced times
...