to think that a clothe
to bring that a soap
buying for me that a water
while i print in history
that your love is for yourself
i showed a world
of pain in my mind
i am immediat
whithout cause to disturb hurt
cordially wronged
and badu to you
my single possession charge
left in coffee covered mystery
upon my body of work
marching in infinite season
salts upon peppers
grit and a pair of dimes
walk to the poor
inside your launching tavern
approaching the sun
i have laid with eden
today a shower
for your celebrations a war
upon rights
spelled beside the fight
and constellations
sought better pages of herstory
than the tarnished books
you now stand before
the hourly toil of an irish slave
a slavic tongue
declared incompetent
doomed for death before god