Our Dreams Draw Blood From Old Sores.

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.

In Our Ordinaryness We Are Most Bizarre.

Being Alive And Being A Woman Is All I Got, But Being Colored Is A Metaphysical Dilemma I Haven't Conquered Yet.

Creation Is Everything You Do. Make Something.

Our Dreams Draw Blood From Old Sores.