Exhaust The Little Moment / Soon It

I Swear To Keep The Dead Upon My Mind, / Disdain For All Time To Be Overglad.

The Civil Rights Situation Is Like A Pregnancy. It Will Get Worse, I Believe, Before It Gets Better. What The Usual Pregnancy Comes To Is A Decent Baby. That Is What We All Hope Will Be The End Product Of This Stress. It Is Customary, At The End Of A Pregnancy, To Have For Your Pains A Decent Baby.

There Are No Magics Or Elves / Or Timely Godmothers To Guide Us. We Are Lost, Must / Wizard A Track Through Our Own Screaming Weed.

I Am A Writer Perhaps Because I Am Not A Talker. It Has Always Been Hard For Me To Say Exactly What I Mean In Speech But If I Have Written A Clumsiness, I May Erase It.

The Forties And Fifties Were Years Of High Poet-incense; The Language-flowers Were Thickly Sweet. Those Flowers Whined And Begged White Folks To Pick Them, To Find Them Lovable. Then The '60s: Independent Fire!