He bad
O he bad
He make a honky
poot. Make it honky’s
blue eyes squint

Give me your hand
Make room for me
to lead and follow
you
beyond this rage of poetry.

Some clichty folks
don’t know the facts,
posin’ and preenin’
and puttin’ on acts,
stretchin’ their backs.

The highway is full of big cars
going nowhere fast
And folks is smoking anything that
Some people wrap their lies around
And you sit wondering

Funky blues
Keen toed shoes
High water pants
Saddy night dance
Red soda water

Pretty women wonder where my secre
I’m not cute or built to suit a fa
But when I start to tell them,
They think I’m telling lies.
I say,

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?

FOR DAVID P—B
The eye follows, the land
Slips upward, creases down, forms
The gentle buttocks of a young
Giant. In the nestle,

We wear the mask that grins and li
It shades our cheeks and hides our
This debt we pay to human guile
With torn and bleeding hearts…
We smile and mouth the myriad subt

We die,
Welcoming Bluebeards to our darke
Stranglers to our outstretched nec
Stranglers, who neither care nor
care to know that