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        Freedman's Town
        A ghostly rarefied
        late afternoon light
        hangs over Freedman's town
        the original blackman's Houston crucible
        the silence full of voices singing the blues.
        The cafes are boarded up – waiting for fresh graffiti
        eerie streets  now empty after
        Rita's almost seductive and elusive visit
        Little black feet with white souls
        that once giggled down the cobblestones
        have been replaced by weeds
        growing through crippled pavement
        that is no longer walked upon
        the aborted seeds of white man greed
        and destruction
        Elsewhere, butting up without asking
        Baked red condominiums rise
        Like new-born cardboard castles
        the freshly planted shafts of progress pregnant
        as I ride my groaning industrial bike
        down avenues without people
        in search of food
        Not in the mood for artifice
        and relishing every aching turn
        of the wheel –
         I gaze upon a blazing purple sunset
        and the descending
        blanket of twilight
        that will  send me off to
        to the week’s first tranquil sleep
        amidst this sense
        that all will change
        even as nothing seems right.
        FD. 9.24.05




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