I can taste each one of my shortcomings
The free market has bought an owner's stake in everyone
Hollowed out oil drums of rising bright Soweto
filled with dirty syringes.
Foaming mouth child bodies convulsing in the dark.
Any love I once had for this place is gone.
The flies are my flies. Their maggots are my children.
Wriggling their way through the manure pile.
The stench is awful. My tiny hatreds are worse.
I can taste each one of my shortcomings.
It is enough to want to starve.
Honesty makes nothing better.
They've bought a controlling stake in honesty
Covered all the bases so that the mere sight
of baseball makes me vomit into my