This is a poem I wrote a few years back and is, as the title suggests inspired by Chi-Town. 

Zanardo spreads visions with lightning speak called Prophetic Tongues outside Jerusalem Liquors and then we play the flute and warm our cold breaths and call children of Chicago to see green rivers and blue lakes fuse together in the horizon of words. Chicago language like doo‘ which means homie, fam’ means family but on my life my crew is chill though we thunder mad carrying gats and hiding razors in our soles…Morse and Glenwood keep the peace like one love under the God of the sun and moon (Chicago mayor burns green to lift the city’s face while land mines planted like Maples bloom and it gets dark like walking deep through Amazons) Chicago struggle, when violence appears in vacancies you sit by the Lake and say “take me away” or work 8 to 5 and 6 to 12 scraping enough green for the red line or red wine Blackstones and Kings, Cobras and FOLKS will cut your throat so we bomb with the wind cuz of the anger in the city of wind. I love Rodgers Park, K-Town, Little Village, and the Wild 100’s cuz of the Creator who keeps them sacred. Chicago style, kamikazes on LSD listen to the sax over Hip-Hop beats all the while thinking of the Blues praying for the green – souls caught in the study of time Chicago dream, it’s like Marx reading Qutb like Rumi smokin a Cuban with Che. It’s a vision rooted in time righteousness and crime so clear so far.

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