Of our years rises, thinly, ominously—profound. We
Are flames holding tallow truths, keeping guard
Over these sleeping futures. Grahamstown

Rises in pylon energies. I levitate,
Broomstick as afflatus, and galvanize
The unsullied words of night. The virginal morning

Comes in whispers. Earthworms dread the gawky
Commuter. As students shout FeesMustFall,
Billowing abdominal surges bawl as bitter abiku.

These truths are milked from noted black holes,
Where Fanon’s skins wipe the tears from the eyes. I
Tremble, having anointed more than my restive hands.

Hidden things are not the soul of the stars—somewhere,
Somewhere over the mocked rainbow. Rains fall
On stuffed human throats. And ours is to peck
At the interstices of welt-ridden memory.