WHAT CAN I SAY?

What can i say except that
the blue armies are. drawing
closer and the goldfish is a
terrible burden and that death
smells sweet, like rotting cheese
or like gypsies gulping down the
roses’s early milk ? What can i
affirm except that life is still
pulsating like a tadpole in my brain,
apartheid is still as real as a
hornecked toad, that the loaves of
good fortune are chewing up the
hills, that the torrents of purple
sadness are welling up in Cape Town’s
dreams, that the sugared night is not
as forlorn as a dying monster, the
type that barricades the ghettoes ?
What can i say except that oblivion
seems a long way off and i’m trying
not to cry, even though the blood
is caking up my eyes and my visions
are not what they once were ?