Corey Mwamba


Entries for 7th Oct 2019

From my throat came the sky
and my feet pressed the tears
that fell down my cheeks
into grains of dust to form

I light the pyre
breathe in
and sing black sound

It pierces, diffuses,
sussurates, suffused with
blood, the taste of metal.

Spat on. The throng continues,
unconcerned, gazing. I coat them with ash

And they press diamonds