• To be borne
    on the dark spear,
    like the open birth of a wound.
    To travel the unique exodus of opportunity


    in chains

    to burn on one's flame
    to the very last spark,
    on the flame of a reverence
    found by the slaves
    in the dust of the way,


    thus red and coquettish,
    to bloom on the thorn-bush of blood
    and thus tall and proud,
    to pass through the scourge-field of degradation
    and to reach the extreme of hatred …
    Oh, whom am I speaking of?
    The living with no reason we are
    conscious to reason of their death they.