Home from work at dark Detroit
City night invisible front doors
Shut below roof hung welcome light
A burglars forewarning of porches
Raised three steps above entry
Galleries there where beds once kept
They passed away generations
Who gave mulatto sons to raise
And still they slept
Soldiering from monument to monument
Home from work at dark Detroit
They spun the bail impinged upon the
Forest swell sacked the fields and sung
To the pitch of the gospel themes
The sacred geometry of old lines
Of old masters of slaves
Home from work at dark Detroit
The lot is legal and sweetly placed
For the old master still draws
A time phased consciousness frozen
And still set to the pace
Its home from work from factories
Building the mold for the DNA
The enzyme left of the racist face.
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