Here I sit With my shoes mismated. Lawdy—mercy! I’s frustrated!

I worked for a woman, She wasn’t mean— But she had a twelve—room House to clean. Had to get breakfast,

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…

The census man, The day he came round, Wanted my name To put it down. I said, Johnson,

Where is the Jim Crow section On this merry—go—round, Mister, cause I want to ride? Down South where I come from White and colored

In the Quarter of the Negroes Where the doors are doors of paper Dust of dingy atoms Blows a scratchy sound. Amorphous jack—o’—Lanterns caper

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

When the shoe strings break On both your shoes And you’re in a hurry— That’s the blues. When you go to buy a candy bar

It would be nice In any case, To someday meet you Face to face Walking down

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.