"Here was are deep in our illusions. Here the ghosts of our frustrated, sterile,
murdered dreams reign supreme... We, stumped handed Negro altar boys...
Has a onehanded person got a future? We who command so well the art of seductive speech,
we who are so good at silently betraying with a smile, we who preside over poisonous solidarity.
Is this you? Is this you undecolonizable dream that itches my palms?
Here is the beginning of our shadow theatre, perfumed ghosts, shiny skulls, clean shaven baby faces. "