south central's
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south central's
south central's
factory gold rushes of the 40’s
southerners corralled
bread basket of armaments
promise of middle class
wars won – factories lost
crime for food
drugs for mood
blockbusting
head-splitting
third world station
of a united nation
neighborhoods sliced in two
by freeway divides
tension
tinder
human earth quake eruptions
watts and 1992
holly-hood
crips and bloods
murder land central
land of the free
home of the lost
bridges built in deserts
in far off zones
as buildings crumble
in our own south central-land homes
poetography copyright 2009
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A poem begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It finds the thought and the thought finds the words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.