Your Explanation Depresses Me," I Said. "your

Gather Up In The Arms Of Your Love—those Who Expect No Love From Above.

We Build Our Temples For Tomorrow, Strong As We Know How, And We Stand On Top Of The Mountain, Free Within Ourselves.

Life For Me Ain't Been No Crystal Stair

When Poems Stop Talking About The Moon And Begin To Mention Poverty, Trade Unions, Color, Color Lines And Colonies, Somebody Tells The Police.

What Happens To A Dream Deferred?