There’s No Theme


I pick them anytime I bend down
You cannot imagine the combination of rice, bitter leaf and celery
In the mouth of an honest man .
My hair stands on edge when a snake slides by
Makes fanta smell likes baby’s shit
In Senegal where Senghor gave me an award for playing Noliwe
And rubbed St Ives around my ears.
While December is for eating snails
Dota is my daughter’s name
Will go anywhere but Jupiter .


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