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We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,
Grayed in, and gray. “Dream” makes a giddy sound, not strong
Like “rent,” “feeding a wife,” “satisfying a man.”

But could a dream send up through onion fumes
Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes
And yesterday’s garbage ripening in the hall,
Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms

Gwendolyn Brooks 
Added a year ago by Shiraz Abdullahi Gallab
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Gwendolyn Brooks 
"kitchenette building," 1963
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