My Last Defense / Is The Present

Books Are Meat And Medicine And Flame And Flight And Flower Steel, Stitch, Cloud And Clout, And Drumbeats On The Air.

We Real Cool. We Left School. We Lurk Late. We Strike Straight. We Sing Sin. We Thin Gin. We Jazz June. We Die Soon.

There Are No Magics Or Elves / Or Timely Godmothers To Guide Us. We Are Lost, Must / Wizard A Track Through Our Own Screaming Weed.

As You Get Older, You Find That Often The Wheat, Disentangling Itself From The Chaff, Comes Out To Meet You.

Don't Let Anyone Call You A Minority If You're Black Or Hispanic Or Belong To Some Other Ethnic Group. You're Not Less Than Anybody Else.