I Cut My Teeth As The Black

Father, Son, And Holy Ghost, So I Make An Idle Boast; Jesus Of The Twice-turned Cheek Lamb Of God, Although I Speak With My Mouth Thus, In My Heart Do I Play A Double Part.

Ever At Thy Glowing Altar Must My Heart Grow Sick And Falter, Wishing He I Served Were Black.

Dame Poverty Gave Me My Name, And Pain Godfathered Me.

My Poetry Has Become The Way Of My Giving Out What Music Is Within Me.

Lord, Forgive Me If My Need Sometimes Shapes A Human Creed.