For metallic say cushy, then work to rule
liners as the manual advertisement.
Switching like metal she woke up, India
dream of surety in series of pink groves and monkeys
is that dream available in time for Christmas.
Like a head with its jaw taped up said
you got that for what two cups of coffee,
India or somewhere manual, a packaged brink and tape
in the lap of penury mauling you, the infant paw.
How can she wakes up
on fire recognise
love when the surgeons were at him
So India also leaves. The husbands surrounding the coffee
table leave, take out your
repaired hand, leave it on the table as a tip
should freedom of assembly come
past, any totting
up past, show him the private card, your guarantee of make
work, the sore aureole. Angry red, driven past with monsoon
rains matured that way, your slightly puffy
face creases like your mother’s, your sister
falls apart when they bring out the handcuffs. She made
If we thought it would all become clear, like tracked sky
bundling our coats of fynbos into water limelight
picnic and the infant, in the bag
with foam prints and petroleum negatives. We were
struck dumb. The continent, lack
lustre, refused to be there for us. People all
up in the air about it. Her back
was tracked with kenotic
tissue of fabric of felt of some kind,
his thumb in his mouth, the shaved head of the foreman.