Balboa, The Entertainer

Poem By Amiri Baraka

It cannot come
except you make it
from materials
it is not
caught from. (The philosophers
of need, of which
I am lately
will tell you. ôThe People,?
(and not think themselves
to the same
trembling flesh). I say now, ôThe People,
as some lesson repeated, now,
the lights are off, to myself,
as a lover, or at the cold wind.
Let my poems be a graph
of me. (And they keep
to the line where flesh
drops off. You will go
blank at the middle. A
dead man.
die soon, Love. If
what you have for
yourself, does not
stretch to your body?s
(Where, without
music trails, or your fingers
from my arm

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