No Man May Make Another Free.

It Was The Meanest Moment Of Eternity.

There Is Something About Poverty That Smells Like Death. Dead Dreams Dropping Off The Heart Like Leaves In A Dry Season And Rotting Around The Feet; Impulses Smothered Too Long In The Fetid Air Of Underground Caves. The Soul Lives In Sickly Air. People Can Be Slaveships In Shoes.

Among The Thousand White Persons, I Am A Dark Rock Surged Upon, And Overswept.

She Had An Inside And An Outside Now And Suddenly She Knew How Not To Mix Them.

Honey, De White Man Is De Ruler Of Everything As Fur As Ah Been Able Tuh Find Out. Maybe It's Some Place Way Off In De Ocean Where De Black Man Is In Power, But We Don't Know Nothin' But What We See.