the din that is writing poetry

Over Mrs. God's clatter of saucepans chiding
Hiding behind burning cigar hopes
is this
Samora's coffin of struggles
Why pallbeared by perilous topography
Shit.

Damn damn damnation the rape of harare.
And 'polispreadeagled masturbating
a dancer's condom
In the End my heart becomes

Cyclop's empty head.
O Fuck!