The Gutter (Poem)

I’m coming from the gutter
The land that makes you wonder

The home of the greed
The land of the slave
The hand that takes you under

The talk of the town
The life of the crowd
The dulas that bake bread all the year round

What is it you said?
Your clothes are too red

Look the wrong way
And you’ll wind up dead

Yield signs are yellow
Crips wear blue
Lines are straight
Cross one
You’re through

Take the wrong turn
Walk through an alley
Fear every man when you stroll through the valley

Who owns the block?
Do you own a glock?

Zones are zones
Can you take a shot?

Every man to his own
Can’t trust another

Hated by all when you fall in
The gutter

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