Black Licorice

And he said,

"I have no interest in throwing more Black genius at this question."

Black genius, Black thesis.

Story of the black sequel - innit something?

Reminiscent of a beat when the drum's thumping.

No cry of a storm.

Peeked through the weeds to see leaves lit violet,

Somehow the cold East felt vibrant and warm.

The taste of black licorice to tie a stomach in knots,

They burned down Black Wall Street,

Now east the bubbling blood in a pot.

He'll say, torn peace always inspires a song,

A neat niche, yet we feel tired and wronged.

Firing on, fighting the long reach of a government arm.

Please just acknowledge you're wrong.