#AmericanWriters
Being walkers with the dawn and mo… Walkers with the sun and morning, We are not afraid of night, Nor days of gloom, Nor darkness—
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
Only dumb guys fight. If I wasn’t dumb I wouldn’t be fightin’. I could make six dollars a day On the docks
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
The gold moth did not love him So, gorgeous, she flew away. But the gray moth circled the flam… Until the break of day. And then, with wings like a dead d…
Listen! Dear dream of utter aliveness— Touching my body of utter death— Tell me, O quickly! dream of aliv… The flaming source of your bright…
I will take you heart. I will take your soul out of your… As though I were God. I will not be satisfied With the touch of your hand
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
My old mule, He’s gota grin on his face. He’s been a mule so long He’s forgotten about his race. I’m like that old mule —
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
Goin’ down the road, Lawd, Goin’ down the road. Down the road, Lawd, Way, way down the road. Got to find somebody