On my back they’ve written history, Lord,
On my back they’ve lashed out hell.
My eyes run blood,
The faces I see are blood,
My toes can’t dig no deeper in the dirt.
When my children get to reading, Lord,
On my back they’ll read my tale.
My lips taste blood,
And in the soul’s they’re blood.
My tongue can’t joy no future in this blood.
When my children get to shouting, Lord,
When my children get to standing straight,
Lord, Lord, Lord,
When that time come rolling down!!!!
The bird is lost,
Dead, with all the music:
Whole sunsets heard the brain’s music
Faded to last horizon notes.
I do not know why I hold
This skull, smaller than a walnut’s,
Against my ear,
Expecting to hear
The smashed fear
Of childhoods from…bone;
Expecting to see
Wind nosing red and purple,
Strange gold and magic
On bubbled windowpanes
Of childhood.
