Good intentions

do not exactly equate

with good deeds,

Howard was no

good cure

for cold

calculated

crimes

committed

at high-noontide

at sea –

a futile

academic dish

that only produced

refined and more

efficient cogs

in the planter’s wheel

of well-calibrated

culture of

abuse

and death –

back to bataan…

young man,

time to pack up

and tackle

the real world

with zest

and zing

and common

sense,

if you are

to survive

with dignity

and sanity;

time to secure

a mind of

your own,

time to remake

these united states

in the image

of its black

makers by

default…

Uncle Howard

was just another

goodly

blue-eyed devil

with good

intentions

who only knew

how to replicate

the status quo

with missionary

zeal and

self-congratulation,

a tragic farce

of epic

proportions;

miseducation

of the Negro

whose mental stage

I had long

outgrown –

this vicious cycle

interrupted

and mangled

destiny

deviously repackaged

and labeled

as new…

time to cut off

these mentacidal

manacles of

self-hatred

and let in

the cool breeze

of confidence

and creativity;

tear up

the strait-jacket

of cant

and

deceit

unconscionably

paraded as

the new order

of merit,

which is no

merit

at all,

if you slow down

slightly

and peek

beneath

the cobwebby

cupboard

of cant

and

chicanery;

this colorful web

of prayerful

theft

in which

we are

trapped

by the balls…

time to pack up

and be as free

as the breeze,

black boy –

time to shoot

the breeze

and fly

high

like

a

kite –

1/21/14

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