Posted on February 9, 2009 at 8:30pm
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poem for Cape Town. white
cottony waves (like fluffy cash
crop your cousins gleaned from southern
American
plantations), they crash
against untamable
extremities of Earth, so glad
not to be
mutilated and reformed
by toughened brown
hands into bricks (subjugated
people suffer alongside desecrated
land unless settler capital
decrees a national park, meaning (for nations
of Capital, that is (not-brown nations), living
in…
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