To Be In Love Is To Touch

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!

I Am Interested In Telling My Particular Truth As I Have Seen It.

Books Are Meat And Medicine And Flame And Flight And Flower Steel, Stitch, Cloud And Clout, And Drumbeats On The Air.

Words Can Do Wonderful Things. They Pound, Purr. They Can Urge, They Can Wheedle, Whip, Whine. They Can Sing, Sass, Singe. They Can Churn, Check, Channelize. They Can Be A "hup Two Three Four." They Can Forge A Fiery Army Of A Hundred Languid Men.

Each Body Has Its Art.