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If my sorrow were deeper I’d be, along with you, under the ocean’s floor; but today I learn that the oil that pools beneath the ocean floor
As if I’ve swallowed A watermelon And Sidestepping My digestive tract
Before I leave the stage I will sing the only song I was meant truly to sing. It is the song of I AM.
If I was President The first thing I would do is call Mumia Abu—Jamal. No, if I was president
I have a friend who is turning gray, not just her hair, and I do not know why this is so.
Knowing you might some day come and how unprepared I’ve always been like Mr. Sloppy in Charles Dickens’
Be nobody’s darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around
When they torture your mother plant a tree When they torture your father plant a tree When they torture your brother
I Sing of Mumia brilliant and strong and of the captivity that few black men escape
I will keep Broken things: The big clay Pot
Reminding us, as they witnessed our curiosity about them, that no matter the losses, there’s something fabulous going on at every stage of Life, something to let go of, maybe, but for d...
How can Humanity look the deer in the face? How can I,
The old men used to sing And lifted a brother Carefully Out the door I used to think they
Look into her eyes and know: She does not think