I Am Gonna Write Poems Til I

My Spirit Is Too Ancient To Understand The Separation Of Soul & Gender

I Am Gonna Write Poems Til I Die And When I Have Gotten Outta This Body I Am Gonna Hang Round In The Wind And Knock Over Everybody Who Got Their Feet On The Ground.

Somebody/ Anybody Sing A Black Girl's Song Bring Her Out To Know Herself To Know You But Sing Her Rhythms Carin/ Struggle/ Hard Times Sing Her Song Of Life She's Been Dead So Long Closed In Silence So Long She Doesn't Know The Sound Of Her Own Voice Her Infinite Beauty She's Half-notes Scattered Without Rhythm/ No Tune Sing Her Sighs Sing The Song Of Her Possibilities Sing A Righteous Gospel Let Her Be Born Let Her Be Born & Handled Warmly.

Right Now Being Born A Girl Is To Be Born Threatened.

Where There Is A Woman There Is Magic. If There Is A Moon Falling From Her Mouth, She Is A Woman Who Knows Her Magic, Who Can Share Or Not Share Her Powers. A Woman With A Moon Falling From Her Mouth, Roses Between Her Legs And Tiaras Of Spanish Moss, This Woman Is A Consort Of The Spirits.