Poem by Carl Sandburg

Fight

Red drips from my chin where I have been eating.
Not all the blood, nowhere near all, is wiped off my mouth.
Clots of red mess my hair
And the tiger, the buffalo, know how.
I was a killer.

         Yes, I am a killer.
I come from killing.
         I go to more.

I drive red joy ahead of me from killing.
Red gluts and red hungers run in the smears and juices
    of my inside bones:

The child cries for a suck mother and I cry for war.

1. Baby Face
2. Kin
3. Sea Slant
4. Subway
5. Dan

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