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THE WALKING HARMATTAN

On September dawn
they will come upon us
In slow massive confidence
Over and above the bowled green hills
Roasting our lips
Cracked in frost
like lines drawn by birds
– Thirty-two involuntary banter
No skin is spared
Painted in rumpled white
We’d prefer to be drenched in steamy waters
When the walking harmattanHarmattan
suffuse our land

 

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