#AmericanWriters
Now dreams Are not available To the dreamers, Nor songs To the singers.
In places like Selma, Alabama, Kids say, In places like Chicago and New York...
I would liken you To a night without stars Were it not for your eyes. I would liken you To a sleep without dreams
You sicken me with lies, With truthful lies. And with your pious faces. And your wide, out—stretched, mock—welcome, Christian hands.
Fine living . . . a la carte? Come to the Waldorf—Astoria! LISTEN HUNGRY ONES! Look! See what Vanity Fair says… new Waldorf—Astoria:
Children, I come back today To tell you a story of the long da… That I had to climb, that I had t… In order that the race might live… Look at my face —dark as the night…
I am God— Without one friend, Alone in my purity World without end. Below me young lovers
Clean the spittoons, boy. Detroit, Chicago, Atlantic City, Palm Beach.
I am your son, white man! Georgia dusk And the turpentine woods. One of the pillars of the temple f… You are my son!
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—
What happens to a dream deferred? Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun? Or fester like a sore— And then run?
Have you dug the spill Of Sugar Hill? Cast your gims On this sepia thrill: Brown sugar lassie,
2 and 2 are 4. 4 and 4 are 8. But what would happen If the last 4 was late? And how would it be
You say I O.K.ed LONG DISTANCE? O.K.ed it when? My goodness, Central That was then!
It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down