You
may go tear my bud of birth;
and
sniff the slice of my edges;
or
rip apart my soft covers;
maybe
break my stem of matches;
but
never leave my roots alive
nor
my vast pollens of patches;
if
your desire would lead me place
from
my foreign blood's voices;
for
I shall rise with such great noise;
against
the clouds of your violence;
of
guilt with fool, misleading judge
to
march your end of caged silence.
