With Melted Opals For My Milk, Pearl-leaf

The Forties And Fifties Were Years Of High Poet-incense; The Language-flowers Were Thickly Sweet. Those Flowers Whined And Begged White Folks To Pick Them, To Find Them Lovable. Then The '60s: Independent Fire!

People Are So In Need, In Need Of Help. People Want So Much That They Do Not Know.

Each Body Has Its Art.

Exhaust The Little Moment / Soon It Dies.

Life For My Child Is Simple, And Is Good.