this is one of my favorite pieces of literature by one of my favortie poets. think ainsley burrows a few generations ago..and you come to a brilliant man by the name of langston hughes. it pisses me off that i can't find my damn book. i'm going through fucking withdrawls. so if you are the picaroon who came into my place of residence and snatched my beloved book away, beware for i will hunt you down and rip your entrails out of you through your nose. i'm not a violent person, so i'm hoping it has just been misplaced....
harlem
what happens to a dream deferred?
does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
or fester like a sore-
and then run?
does it stink like rotten meat?
or crust and sugar over-
like a syrupy sweet?
maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
or does it explode?
