Whatever Lives Is Granted Breath But By

Africa? A Book One Thumbs Listlessly, Till Slumber Comes.

Ever At Thy Glowing Altar Must My Heart Grow Sick And Falter, Wishing He I Served Were Black.

I Was Reared In The Conservative Atmosphere Of A Methodist Parsonage.

Whatever Lives Is Granted Breath But By The Grace And Sufferance Of Death.

Lord, I Fashion Dark Gods, Too, Daring Even To Give You Dark Despairing Features