For Poems Are Like Rainbows; They Escape

They [the Police] Learned Something From Them Harlem Riots. They Used To Beat Your Head Right In Public, But Now They Only Beat It After They Get You Down To The Station House.

I Swear To The Lord, I Still Can't See, Why Democracy Means, Everybody But Me.

Love Is A Naked Shadow, On A Gnarled And Naked Tree.

Rest At Pale Evening... A Tall Slim Tree... Night Coming Tenderly Black Like Me

Anyday, One Can Walk Down The Street In A Big City And See A Thousand People. Any Photographer Can Photograph These People - But Very Few Photographers Can Make Their Prints Not Only Reproductions Of The People Taken, But A Comment Upon Them - Or More, A Comment Upon Their Lives - Or More Still, A Comment Upon The Social Order That Creates These Lives.