Wrap me up in my own language! Wrap me,
and watch me come home to a thousand lights.
Through a thousand deaths, I saw the sap tree
leaking, ready for the taking of our rights:
I don't pilfer cultures, I aim to build
from the ground and my mind a truth unvoiced,
so that for every slur that might be spilled
there is a bigot heart that might be killed
except for the noble air that we hoist
above the heavens, below the distance
between wrong and rhythm; time is instant
and constant and extant and protestant:
I dislike minorities who "sell out;"
the "applause" does clap their golden bell out.
urbansonnets 