My mind has countless arms
Reaching,
Some I can't even see,
Some I don't even know about
And perhaps for my sake
May never get to see,
That is if my self remains as always
Never free.
My mind has countless arms
That reach.
They grasp and pull and tug
Like a baby
And like a thug
Like a weaver
And like a bum.
They wave fondly at others
And shake a fist at some.
My mind is making arms that will
Preserve my legacy.
My mind is making arms that will
liberate and strangle me,
and sometimes they both feel the same.
But my two hands that I can see
Are vulnerable and empty.
They sense the underlying game.
-Zenzile Greene
(Written in Bryant Park)
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