As if when Marti fled to the Catskills
or traveled the Sea to Guantanamo
he held in his heart the soul of his Mind
that he drew from when voyaging his Thought.
Aching in his Groins he disciplined Art.
He made it his Ally and Companion
For it came from a world of Grievances
the prepotent cast on the Slave and Cursed!
As knowledge wracked the world in his Head
Meanwhile the pusillanimous fled
and Friends that were made were gone forever
none would speak ill of him nor he of them
Than whiter no flowers could ever Be
roses of July and January
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