Found poem. The Not So American Dream.

What happens to a dream deferred?

Does it dry up?

Or does it explode?

Edges and disjuncts, shattered, bitter planes,

A wedge of disconsolate memories to echo fame,

Fear of the past, a future still to blame

Tangled in that ancient endless chain

Yet I am the one who dreamt our basic dream

America never was America to me,

The free?

Surely not me? The millions on relief today?

The millions shot down when we strike?

All the dreams we've dreamed

All the songs we've sung

The millions have nothing for our pay--

Except the dream that's almost dead today.