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Cocaine is not grown in the ghettos,
big drug money not laundered there.
Trees with greenbacks for leaves
decorate streets and alleys.
Carrion birds pluck rotting frames,
smothered grasses wither in dust.
Leached lives teem in these ghettos,
blood siphoned to vases afar.
The yoke on their necks is held tightly
by gold-plated buzzards who soar.

— Adam David Miller

© 2009 Adam David Miller

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