There are a lot of comments about who's

blacker than you are

and who's blacker than she is, blacker than thou

In other words, it's a sort of trend

And, in looking on various street corners in Harlem

Who covers themselves with the light

As if it were a garment?

Who makes the angel's spirit

From the flames of the fire?

Laid the foundation of the earth

So that it shall not be moved

Covered it with the deep of the ocean

Who stands above the mountains

And at your word, they fled

They hastened away

Send the springs into the valley

That flow through the hills

And give drink to the beasts of the field

And quench their thirst

By you the birds of the heavens

Have their home

And sing amongst the branches

The earth is satisfied by the fruit of your works

Cause the grass to grow for the cattle

And the vegetation

For the service of the human

So that they bring forth the fruit from the earth

The wine that makes glad the heart of man

And oil that makes his face shine

The wine that makes glad the heart of man

And oil that makes his face shine

Makes the face shine

I like to watch the leaves fall, last breath

Sweet ash from the slash and burn

And lazy eyes from being in a dream

Talk to the trees

Please, me, see, be, free

Heed, believe, see, breath

Need and want nothing

I need and want nothing

Dry roses hang from the bed

Nakedness is all around

Barren is my soul

I beg to be a child born for Love

So i sway to the pulses of the rivers of blood

That flow through my body

'cause I believe in things you cannot see

To some god is the light

That leads them to believe

That they see

And know everything

To some god is the light

That leads them to believe

That they see

And know everything

But if one is to truly be born again

You would have to gouge out your eyes

Cut out your tongue

And grieve

And cry like a baby that's been snatched away

Cry like a baby that's been snatched away

Sister, cry like a baby that's been snatched away

Brother, cry like a baby that's been snatched away

To some, god is the light

That leads them to believe that they see

And know everything

I sway to the pulses of the rivers of blood

That flow through my body

'cause i believe in things

That you cannot see

I believe in things that I cannot see

To some, god is the light

That leads them to believe that they see

And know everything

Taped to the wall of my cell are 47 pictures

47 black faces: my father, mother

grandmothers (1 dead) , grandfathers (both dead)

brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts

cousins (1st and 2nd) , nieces, and nephews

They stare across the space at me, sprawling on my bunk

I know their dark eyes, they know mine

I know their style, they know mine

I am all of them, they are all of me

They are farmers, I am a thief, I am me, they are thee

I have at one time or another been in love with my mother

1 grandmother, 2 sisters, 2 aunts (1 went to the asylum)

And 5 cousins

I am now in love with a 7-year-old niece

She sends me letters in large block print

and her picture is the only one that smiles at me

I have the same name as 1 grandfather

3 cousins, 3 nephews, and 1 uncle

The uncle disappeared when he was 15

just took off and caught a freight (they say)

He's discussed each year when the family has a reunion

He causes uneasiness in the clan, he is an empty space

My father's mother, who is 93

And who keeps the Family Bible with everybody's birth dates

(and death dates) in it, always mentions him

There is no place in her Bible for "whereabouts unknown. "

Each fall, the graves of my grandfathers call me

The brown hills and red gullies of Mississippi

Send out their electric messages, galvanizing my genes

Last year, like a salmon quitting

The cold ocean-leaping and bucking up his birth stream

I hitchhiked my way from LA with 16 caps

in my pocket and a monkey on my back

And I almost kicked it with the kinfolks

I walked barefoot in my grandmother's backyard

I smelled the old land and the woods

I sipped corn whiskey from fruit jars with the men

I flirted with the women

I had a ball till the caps ran out

And my habit came down

That night, I looked at my grandmother and split

My guts were screaming for junk, but I was almost content

I had almost caught up with me

(The next day in Memphis, I cracked a croaker's crib for a fix.)

This year, there is a gray stone wall damming my stream

And when the falling leaves stir my genes

I pace my cell, or flop on my bunk

And stare at 47 black faces across the space

I am all of them

They are all of me

I am me

They are thee

And I have no children to float in the space between