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      January 18, 2010On the Flyleaf of C.K.W.’s Selected PoemsHerbert Woodward Martin

      When a man dies he doesn’t have to wipe his ass anymore,
      Nor does he have to loosen those last drops of urine from
      His penis; it is all over, except the bathing and dressing
      Which is left to the undertakers in North America. Every
      Where else you are quickly buried in what you have on.
      Black people think of it as being “Dressed to Kill.”
      It means you have simply stepped out of a bandbox,
      That Messers Gucci and Saint Laurent along with
      Ms. Chanel have themselves dressed you live, well,
      Kicking and smelling as fresh and delightfully wintry,
      Without their ever imagining the journey they have
      So successfully prepared you for.

      from #31 - Summer 2009