My mind is a cauldron of realistic poesy within writers' ethers
My mind speaks archetypes, not filters
I write life, I don't borrow facade
I supply sanity because I ain't in the asylum of demand
Even when as though in midst of double consciousness;
I write write in right to conquer that madness.

I speak the mad sparks of negro folks
of residence of them within the blind blanket soaks.
I flood the blazes of flame via pens and pencil,
Slicing bits and pieces and parts and parcels
Of me on...