I am not African-American
there’s no dash needed
a native spook who sat by the door
listening for opportunity,
devout in my non
Spoken Word artist Reynold Martin breaks down his reasons for the death of black history month.
Harlem 1968 a group of young poets get together and found THE LAST POETS. With jazz or funk as a backdrop, percussions rolling and words shooting out like bursts of machine gun fire, the group denounces the oppression of African Americans, while painting a devastating…