My gun is warm
and flesh, it bleeds
this rain of bullets
ripping one by one
from narrow chambers
ink-black cartridges
perhaps a magazine
into your mind.
And some will feel
my pencil’s lead
swift through their heart
the searing heat
the ricochet
the exit wound
the echo of
my gun, my gun
is warm, is warm
and flesh, it bleeds
my bulletin
returning fire.
I have embarked on a voyage of rediscovery – an explorer roaming a country abandoned twenty years ago. My vessel of choice is South African literature. And it has been quite a trip already – speeding over sparkling waters with Stephen Simm, navigating magical, murderous miles with Zachariah Rapola, and partying all night with jazzy cats aboard the cruise ship Bongani Madondo (Gimme the CD and photo album, Daddy-O!).
On the horizon I see the good ship Kanga, where I hope to get a crash course in political survival from Mmatshilo Motsei, and I certainly hope Zukiswa Wanner lives up to her promise to be wildly provocative when we row out with The Madams.
