The Mirror

in the night in my half hour negro dreams i hear voices knocking at the door i see walls dripping screams up and down the halls                                won't someone open the door for me? won't some one schedule my sleep and don't ask no questions? noise.           like when he took me too his home away from home place and i died the long sought after death he'd planned for me. Yeah, bessie he put in the bacon and it overflowed the pot. and two days later when i was talking i started to grin. as everyone knows i am still grinning.

Spring rained its icy water on all my unleashed desires, My young sap gushed with the first touch of tender bark. Now in the heart of July, I am blinder than Winter is at the pole. My wings beat and break against the bars of the low sky No ray of sun can pierce the soundless vault of my ennui. What sign to recover? What keys to strike? How can I reach the god of long-distance spears? The royal summer of the South, down there, would arrive Too late, yes, and in agonizing September! In which book can I find the fervor of your reverberation? In the pages of which book, on whose unreachable lips, Find your delirious love? My restless waiting wears me out. Oh, the sound of rain On the monotonous leaves! Just play me "Solitude," Duke, so I can cry myself to sleep.