The Tint Of Their Fur
The Day Paragraphs 17 - 25 Of Martin Luther King’s “I Have A Dream” Speech
Were Eaten By The Microsoft Word Thesaurus.
I comprise a hallucination that one day this country will ascend up and about to live out the spot on gist of its statement of belief: “We cling to these truths to be as plain as a pikestaff, that all men are twisted comparable.”
I have a reverie that one day of the week on the red hills of Georgia, the adolescents of earlier slaves and the offspring of previous slave owners will be endowed to sit losing in somebody’s company at the board of brotherhood.
I have a vision that one day even the condition of Mississippi, a state burning up with the heat of wrong, scorching with the high temperature of coercion, will exist misshapen and appear a haven of lack of restrictions and even-handedness.
I have a trance that my four diminutive offspring will one day breathe in a realm where they will not be judged by the tint of their fur but by the substance of their moral fibre.
I have a delusion today!
I have a nightmare that one day, downstairs in Alabama, with its ferocious xenophobes, with its superintendent having his orifice dripping with the prose of “interposition” and “nullification” — in sunlight hours right there in Alabama modest black boys and black girls will be talented enough to join hands with petite pallid boys and ashen girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a nightmare today!
I have a delusion that one day every gorge shall be lofty, and every mount and stack shall be made squat, the jagged places will be made unadorned, and the warped places will be made as the crow flies; “and the credit of the aristocrat shall be publicized and all fleshy tissue shall distinguish it in concert.”
This is our optimism, and this is the devotion that I depart back to the South in the company of.

I am disturbed by this silly and random act… but a few lines stick out as kinda catchy…
“I comprise a halucination”
“all men are twisted comparable”
“sit losing in somebody’s company at the board of brotherhood”
“the tint of their fur”
“its superintendent having his orifice dripping ”
“modest black boys… talented enough to join hands with petite pallid boys”
etcetera and so on it goes…
The only conclusion I can make from this bastardisation of what I truly believe to be more or less the best poetry ever written and read is that no matter how bastardised it is, a certain poetic brilliance exists within its form.
Am I deluded?
That really makes me want to march, but i have no idea what for!