I Cut My Teeth As The Black

My Poetry Has Become The Way Of My Giving Out What Music Is Within Me.

I Have A Rendezvous With Life.

Not For Myself I Make This Prayer, But For This Race Of Mine That Stretches Forth From Shadowed Places Dark Hands For Bread And Wine.

We Were Not Made To Eternally Weep.

Quaint, Outlandish Heathen Gods Black Men Fashion Out Of Rods