untitled

there’s a poet locked up inside of me, waiting to shut up

I was browsed

I was browsing on my browser
and my browser browsed me
so I asked myself
if it’s really true what I see
or perhaps, instead,
maybe it’s only it who sees me?
or could it be my selfie
who thinks that I see?
but then my vision was clearly confused
and my little brain became somewhat bemused
because my selfie just stood there
still as could be
with those overposed eyes
staring right back at me

Kwezi, Zuma, Democracy and Us

There once was a sociopath name Zuma
Who couldn’t fuck up the country any sooner
He raped Kewzi, then us, we applauded, even jumped on his bus
File that in the annals of protest humour