#AmericanWriters
The calm, Cool face of the river Asked me for a kiss.
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
How still, How strangely still The water is today, It is not good For water
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
Tell all my mourners To mourn in red — Cause there ain’t no sense In my bein’ dead.
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
Go home and write a page tonight. And let that page come out of you— Then, it will be true. I wonder if it’s that simple?
Night funeral In Harlem: Where did they get Them two fine cars? Insurance man, he did not pay—
You and your whole race. Look down upon the town in which y… And be ashamed. Look down upon white folks And upon yourselves
I could take the Harlem night and wrap around you, Take the neon lights and make a cr… Take the Lenox Avenue busses, Taxis, subways,
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
Harlem Sent him home in a long box— Too dead To know why:
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
I, too, sing America. I am the darker brother. They send me to eat in the kitchen When company comes, But I laugh,
When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. When I was home de Sunshine seemed like gold. Since I come up North de