Sometimes A Crumb Falls From

There Is No Color Line In Art.

I'm So Tired Of Waiting, Aren't You, For The World To Become Good And Beautiful And Kind?

It Has Seemed To Me That Most People Are Generally Good, In Every Race And In Every Country Where I Have Been.

When Poems Stop Talking About The Moon And Begin To Mention Poverty, Trade Unions, Color, Color Lines And Colonies, Somebody Tells The Police.

Melting Pot Harlem-harlem Of Honey And Chocolate And Caramel And Rum And Vinegar And Lemon And Lime And Gall. Dusky Dream Harlem Rumbling Into A Nightmare Tunnel Where The Subway From The Bronx Keeps Right On Downtown.