Gather Out Of Star-dust, Earth-dust, Cloud-dust, Storm-dust,

I Asked You, Baby, If You Understood- You Told Me That You Didn't, But You Thought You Would.

Believing Everything She Read In The Daily News, (no In-between To Choose) She Thought That Only One Side Won, Not That Both Might Lose.

What Happens To A Dream Deferred? Does It Dry Up Like A Raisin In The Sun? Or Fester Like A Sore-- And Then Run? Does It Stink Like Rotten Meat? Or Crust And Sugar Over-- Like A Syrupy Sweet? Maybe It Just Sags Like A Heavy Load. Or Does It Explode?

Well, When Christ Comes Back This Time, I Hope He Comes Back Mad His Own Self. I Hope He Drives The Jim Crowers Out Of Their High Places, Every Living Last One Of Them From Washington To Texas.

I Did Not Believe Political Directives Could Be Successfully Applied To Creative Writing . . . Not To Poetry Or Fiction, Which To Be Valid Had To Express As Truthfully As Possible The Individual Emotions And Reactions Of The Writer.