Bang! Bang!
The sounds of gun shots mid-day on Thursday,
Sirens getting closer to the crime scene,
Just two weeks ago a man's life was terminated for a cellphone,
More thugs and more gun fires,
the tragedy so bad it even appeared in the news.

But today i can feel fear creeping in my vains,
Another man shot dead today,
why do i have to live in this community?
For i am afraid.
Few months ago
it was just like an action movie,
people running and rolling
while the loud sounds from the police guns aiming over my
roof top kept on going
Bang! Bang!

I see the police patroling the streets by day,
having picnics in the park
while they watch their horses eroid away the soil.
They feast to some take away outlets
filling their sagging bellies by night.
While they letting the just go unpunished all year long,

Oh! It hurts.
I feel a bullet on my chest,
Oh! It hurts
for i cannot look through the dark
night anymore.
I sit on the side of this wide classroom window,
And i wonder,
What if one bullet comes straight to me. (God forbid)

Oh this township that i loved,
you are not safe anymore.
Where can i run to for i called you home?
There is no distance further gone  without any loud sounds;
Bang! Bang!

     Oh mam' ngiyalil'
     ngililel' labo abangasek'
     ikakhulukaz' imphil' yam'
     umphefumul' ongenacal'
     kungab' sewabayin' wena             dolobh' lami.

I called your name,
with so much pride and bragging,
but now i cannot even say your name
for you have groomed thugs,
gangsters,
vindals,
drug addicts and drug dealers,
harlots... And what else that we do not know?

Could it be blood sacrificies,
are these the 'EndTimes' proclaimed in the book of Revelations,
Why should i bother trying to think when all i hear in my head are ecoing sounds
Bang! Bang!

All i need to do  is to find a way out,
    Nyawozam' ngibeleth' !
    Ngob' inhliziy' ayisahlalisekang'
    qobo
when will that day be,
when crime will be stopped for good,
and police do justice to the community?

Hanging from your words
Like Jon Wayne Gacy
Over the concrete slabs of Babylon.

The women and children gather in the square
To celebrate the suicide of a totalitarian.
We've seen it before, but this time
In your arms
It will never repeat.

Endtimes. Nagasaki.

Why can't we lie here until paralyzed?
Let's just stay here until it's televised
As a sit-down strike against stars undefined
Communism capitalized, now I can die.

Living is over-rated
I want to get lost
In your chest.

I want nothing more than
To be crushed
Slowly
By the force of your thighs.

Lost in the raspberry tinge of a sigh
Swimming til drowning, til choking alive
Treading blood limply, floating inside
Dead in the river of your bloodstream.

Taken by rapids
To disintegrate
In your eyes.

step into the light--
show yrself--
my black-eyed,
horned,
*******--
stir me up,
shut me out,
string me up--

end tonight.
the pools
of fear
swirling in your belly
drown the saneness
of my eccentric existence.
end tonight.

step into the light--
show yrself to me,
dripping with sweat,
draining me of strength,
drilling me with smartmouthings--

poison crib.
poison crypt.
pretty curls.
petty cruelty.

hitting bricks,
slitting necks,
creeping beasts,
show yrself.

the moon
beckons you.
the mercy
forgets you.
my fist
tightens.
my blood lightens.
endtimes
begin
with the sanctity
of illumination.

In the gathering steam and sizzle,
innocence borne on the cleft tongues
and snake oiling scales of just and rust,
turn green in the enzymes -
the endtimes just months away
from release and streaming.

My god has it been this long?
Broth turned to black reduction,
caramelized,
forgotten on a back burning coil,
while I sniffed the air for musk
and cardamom,
while I taste the dirt and slick
crushed biscuits in the mat,
and for what?

Steam carries dissolution,
no two ways about it,
flavor is the concentration
of dead upon dead,
scraped up fond of burning things.

This is madness,
conflagration,
cultivated extermination,
but I reel and I swoon
and roll back repulsion
with a carnivore's lust for melting fats,
with a vegan's lust for imitation,
with a child's zest to burn ants
with sunbeams, focused
to a pinprick.