Index of First Lines
A young boy,
bank city: enclave of fear;
begging has become a profession
Beneath the outstretched foot
Breathing in, cold sky enters the chest
Cold wind cool wind
Dandelions
Driving back from the wedding
Except for the undertaker-crows
My drunken meanderings
Here is a rose
He phoned earlyish, soft-voiced, complicit
here, no angels sing
in an extreme moment of anger, alone
I cut little notches
I glanced my hand across your leg
I had only two beers.
I take courage from the proud,
It's been only two days
It’s crowded in the room.
I was born without even a spider of memory
Jim doesn’t deal in stolen stuff since he
Joey Finkl calls himself the last anarchist in town.
Limitless greys, the abrasive whisper
Long-nailed girl, waitress
Looking out over the quietening town,
Moving shadows thicken on walls
Now I live in the darkness
piki piki mabalane
Rocking stiffly in the boom-chik beat
Roving the streets of Cape Town
sliver of a silver moon in grey-blue fading
Somebody's been reading your personal mail
The afternoon opens the surface of the pool,
The desert tastes yellow on my tongue
The heavy heat today.
The penny whistle begins to weep
The upper end of a fireplace
This is the raw reality
This joy of landscape
Through Du Toit’s Kloof Pass I descend
"Truce?" he asked
Turbines roar, their rush surges through us
We invert time
Yesterday was the gentlest of days
You came four generations
You have sat before the sages of our race,
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A Virtual Anthology
