we’re shopping for shark tails in some
anonymous market in Nairobi,
in the morning when nothing
is fresh yet new supply is coming in,
all of us, alcoholics and working on our first novels,
broke, after fist fights about last night’s dishes & substances –
those really nice mornings when there is no bloom or wind,
we gather like black crows
on the main avenue, we are barely living,
something in us still suggests life,
like when a colony is dying,
or another is replacing it –
then it becomes only a question of time
before we turn on each other, finally.


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