A Letter from Miss Harriet Tubman, Kansas, 1954:
No, I am not THAT Harriet Tubman.
Oh Lord help me, it is now in my dreams.
I woke from a frightful sleep, sweating and gagging.
A Mexican Devil Cock was writhing and spitting and chasing me, and it kept trying to slide its Devil Way into my tiny pale white mouth.
I kept my mouth closed and clenched as tight as I could, I truly did, but it kept pushing and pushing at it, relentless, rubbing on my lips in a way that sends shivers through my legs.
Then a magnificent stout Negro entered my dream and slapped the Mexican Devil Cock away with his big strong arms, and then he put his Negro Cock in my mouth so that the Mexican Devil Cock couldn't make any trespass, like a big, big cork in the little narrow neck of a wine bottle.
As I said: I started gagging, and then woke up with my jaw hurting and saliva everywhere.
Lord, what are you trying to tell me? Do I trust my Dream Negro, or is that the Devil, too?
Help, me Lord, I am adrift.
I am Laslo.