#AmericanWriters
Landlord, landlord, My roof has sprung a leak. Don’t you 'member I told you abou… Way last week? Landlord, landlord,
When you turn the corner And you run into yourself Then you know that you have turned All the corners that are left
In an envelope marked: PERSONAL God addressed me a letter. In an envelope marked: PERSONAL
I catch the pattern Of your silence Before you speak I do not need To hear a word.
We passed their graves: The dead men there, Winners or losers, Did not care. In the dark
It was a long time ago. I have almost forgotten my dream. But it was there then, In front of me, Bright like a sun—
By what sends the white kids I ain’t sent: I know I can’t be President.
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
I was so sick last night I Didn’t hardly know my mind. So sick last night I Didn’t know my mind. I drunk some bad licker that
The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,
The rent man knocked. He said, Howdy—do? I said, What Can I do for you? He said, You know
God in His infinite wisdom Did not make me very wise— So when my actions are stupid They hardly take God by surprise
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…
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
He glides so swiftly Back into the grass— Gives me the courtesy of road To let me pass, That I am half ashamed