It was a long bus ride And the **** plastic sheet seats Were cracking from abuse and freeze We all kept warm with conversations And secrets And scandals in the back row
The era of shame My own propaganda Selling me on the idea That I should carry everyone's. Sourness Sins Shame
That bus was wretched With the stench Of frozen sweat And regret
Despite it all I could find any single one of you And we'd exchange Untouchable moments Memories of the heart Strung along that tattered pavement
It was in your eyes That I saw myself shine For across that opaque pane I witnessed your thought "this guy is interesting"
You and your curly raven rings Asking about my fixations Changed the course Of who I see when I close my eyes
I've never seen you since that summer I've never sat behind you again Can't even recall the name Can't remember if we won the game But you're a warm tea I get to sip When it comes across my mind No loose ends No ***** stains Just the sun breaking the squall And the summer of ****** football
Terribly Terribly hot “…No way…” “…today was really…” “..every day…” “…she’s been acting so…” The conversations Blend and babble Around me like A brook and the bird-calls In the mountain green The leather seat Sticks to my skin like glue I bobble and bounce and I ACK! Gosh **** turns!
There's a thrill and you fall into it again as you forget Rubberneck contagion Anxieties in the upper regions though, no gut disturbance a strange observation process
-without that hinderance Hopped up, the witness Gaze upon a brewing formation Linger tensions Fears shoot up from the deep Like ghosts and demons Around every corner and shadowed path In yr house, when you were young Still perhaps..
you let it bite and a car pulls up Single pointed aggression And we proceed Such a wonder Not really but the feelings procession of instincts habitual And we choose fractions Be important because we believe what the F* does that even mean? Can you go through the process To figure the dimensions of a form..
Listen for a moment; He says he's drunk but really asking to be loved and miraculously it worked off he walked to oblivion if only we had the guts to follow
..I may have gone deeper Than I can dig, up a figure anyway But it's never a settled point So there's always room to play around
I wait on a little island Marooned in the sea of traffic The grey sky broadcasts sweet outcomes To the farmer in me But the lack of an umbrella Makes my mind jittery I'm vulnerable in my suit, tie and all If the sky should burst open its floodgates Where will I find shelter, with my laptop and phone? Hurry Mr. Driver Spur on that staff bus!
Glenarah and Robert Mugabe roads intersection in Harare