You Felons on Trial in Courts

  You felons on trial in courts,
  You convicts in prison-cells, you sentenced assassins chaind and
      handcuffd with iron,
  Who am I too that I am not on trial or in prison?
  Me ruthless and devilish as any, that my wrists are not chaind with
      iron, or my ankles with iron?

  You prostitutes flaunting over the trottoirs or obscene in your rooms,
  Who am I that I should call you more obscene than myself?

  O culpable! I acknowledge--I expose!
  (O admirers, praise not me--compliment not me--you make me wince,
  I see what you do not--I know what you do not.)

  Inside these breast-bones I lie smutchd and choked,
  Beneath this face that appears so impassive hells tides continually run,
  Lusts and wickedness are acceptable to me,
  I walk with delinquents with passionate love,
  I feel I am of them--I belong to those convicts and prostitutes myself,
  And henceforth I will not deny them--for how can I deny myself?