on the ground, looking to lay there.
a boy afresh with gratitude, arms wide on all sides,

present as presence, at the very least.
a love growing, – his father? – don’t get starting.

it is what it is. looking for the mess we made,
never should we lessen your glow.

somewhere boys intensify
fear spitting the whole damn way

a channel of water rushing from the ground,
boys, somewhere, smoking at the ground.

pathways laid and set know their use
although here… ways forward never recall.

//

young confusing
tolerance for acceptance,

begging difference, looking through
permission to do for me as we did for you

drinking colour into our smiles
harvesting worlds anew

saying, that’s dope, you’re becoming human
finally.
this boy Mlondi,
in disrespectful condition

an imagination infant-like
gasping for a life lived

a boy-boy is born.
stars kissing the ground

who cares how we got here, we’re?
living not dying as they said.

short life expectancy expected,
sometimes a boy survives.

some boys don’t change as they could
limiting possibility for a crave to impress.

who cares how we got here,
grab a homie by the pinky,

waltz him under the lamp in a room filled
with wonder he extends a kiss, kissing back;
asking what that meant, tell him everything!

dear life lived, before you learnt how to end yourself
slowly
by the hallways of terrible walking.
wherever you are now

loved boy,
love, boy.