Wikipedia Poem, No. 476

“Bless the fever in that night / in the sixth month of my life. / Bless the fever, for it gave me sight; / it swole my brain to fit God’s gift.” Tyehimba Jess
he she his saints maketh are the grave that maketh are their themself you he she his letter saints her letter saints and to them they themself they make him self your saints her saints that marketh their grave theirs the lord that killeth and maketh the lord killeth and maketh again the lord killeth and they to me the grave and bolt him he she ours his saints maketh and marketh maketh and make the she who ours his saints and to themself you she he it they the lord killeth up on the lord killeth maketh up she he they their we us our saints and among them