I rolled down

my tongue so that

he could take

a strode and

my nameless owning

the carders of my ears

bullets was

shot from my

nostrils they

ripped the image

of the fair skinned Christ

who offed me

a stagger of tabernacles

the lines in my face

was tasks that

I never got around to

offer me water to

shade my love of youngsters

offer me me relief

from the fire

of your touch

when grief

stalks me pass a

nameless rolls of Negroes

digging out

the eyes of

white soldiers

who killed the

last meaning

of being free.