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LANDLORD
We the people
who were here first on this Turtle Island
the Great Spirit blessed us with
and trusted us to care for
are not dogs of whore
but birds of Spirit;
we have a love affair with Maka
Mother Earth;
we roam free
for what is a bird if it is not free,
free to fly
free to be itself;
Freedom comes from within;
we have been described as children
because of our relationship
with the Earth and the Rain
and 4-leggeds,
and the winged ones
and even the creepy crawlers;
But we are smoke in the eyes of wasichus
our presence is a threat
to the philosophy of making money,
the religion of greed,
and strange and foreign to they
drawing forth tears of death;
and when their eyes are rubbed red
the red people's blood is rubbed out.
East L.A.
Shrouded in
passion;
they have beautiful features
and skin
and hair
and eyes dark like the evening sky;
fucked up and emotional
masked in Love
heated by angry traditions;
brutal romance
they scream machismo on Panderia walls,
some unwritten code of misguided honor;
some long ago language dipped in Spanish,
modern conquistadors;
they bathe in violence and cherry cars;
to be a man,
their vision.
Rapid fire tongues
like machine guns in the night;
graffiti backed up by words and blood;
the stench of ignorance:
"Mi Barrio es primo!
I die for my turf!"
Familias like sniping dogs
creating life long politics
without understanding the implications;
there is escape in change
the young warriors are told;
but the warriors have already seen
the price to be paid
like third and fourth world nations
living in the shadow of democracy
and its ex-wife communism.
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