Poem for Culiacán
Set afire & ravaged by drug lords Culiacán, the eden with three rivers burns through the night the Guadalupe watches from La Lomita, her sanctuary church it has the best view of the dying city The same giant white SUVs blue skies, cactus, palm trees the same brown-skinned people sinners, saints, criminals, victims Los Angeles or Culiacán what’s the difference?…