They [the Police] Learned Something From Them

Through My Grandmother's Stories Always Life Moved, Moved Heroically Toward An End. Nobody Ever Cried In My Grandmother's Stories. They Worked, Or Schemed, Or Fought. But No Crying. When My Grandmother Died, I Didn't Cry, Either. Something About My Grandmother's Stories (without Her Ever Having Said So) Taught Me The Uselessness Of Crying About Anything."

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

Misery Is When You Heard On The Radio That The Neighborhood You Live In Is A Slum But You Always Thought It Was Home.

O, Let My Land Be A Land Where Liberty Is Crowned With No False Patriotic Wreath, But Opportunity Is Real, And Life Is Free, Equality Is In The Air We Breathe.

Melting Pot Harlem-harlem Of Honey And Chocolate And Caramel And Rum And Vinegar And Lemon And Lime And Gall. Dusky Dream Harlem Rumbling Into A Nightmare Tunnel Where The Subway From The Bronx Keeps Right On Downtown.