Men who are free will make their messes in the street and eat their bread in the park like a bird. Men who are free will join the masses in the streets and will be led in the dark by a bird. Men who are free will take their hands to be their feet and will be as dead as a lark is a bird. Men who are slaves were never surer of their fate than when they first caught a glimpse of a bird. Men who are slaves were sleeping soiled in the rain and were averse to the hints of a bird. Pity the man who turns a wing into a hand and turns a song from a sound to a word. And a woman is a man is a man a man with long hair. A man is a word or a sound; a shape and hot air. A word is, is a name or a, or a pointing finger: Fire! Run away run away! Grab the pitcher! Water! Fill it up! Fill it up with water! Take it far away! Far away! As it is given. In the hidden, and dark, in the kitchen and the heavens; on the subway, and platform; on the bridges and the statues I saw birds. Men without name know the true meaning of shame and keep alone. Men without law know what a riot squad is for and keep alone. Men without words practice the politics of birds and keep alone.