Who Needs A Sunset

I don’t.

Not when little black boys in my class are so filled with void that they steal the graphic novels I I checked out from the library and importuned them not to remove from the class.

I definitely don’t need a sunset when instead of reading “A Narrow Fellow in the Grass,” and trying to find the theme of the piece, one of my brightest chirped up and asked me if I saw Empire. When I replied “no” in a dry and disdainful voice, he waited for me to walk a few steps before saying that I was a liar and had to have seen the season finale at least.

Give me a black sky teeming with crows and a couple gray clouds if I have to hear my administration talk about Martin Luther King at another school function.

And I don’t want to see evidence of a higher power in the evening sky if it means that the nigga I used to pee the bed with won’t talk to me because I married a woman. We were all raised under the same roof. Pardon me for knowing how to bag badder bitches than you, bro.

I guess the sunset is nice for people who are jaded or in love (I am), but I mostly use it as a signal that I need to head to the library to help a little brown boy with reading or that I need to go home and take care of my family.

I Don’t need a sunset. I need more people that understand what the fuck is going on and has been going on, and won’t stop going on until we stop marveling at the sunset.

Quite The Moveable Feast


As American as Hemingway.

And thumbscrews.

And lynching.

And big black dick envy.

And robbery.

And theft.

And bribery.

And migrant workers in California being raped so you can have those pretty onions, while having to keep quiet because they are illegal and want their kids to have “a better life.”





Well Done

 If it ever gets better than this, there better be some milk and honey around. Or at least 40 virgins.  

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