Graffiti Voices
deafening, boisterous walls,
full of pomp
impossible to avoid
even at 65
on the 10
in a 911.
the magic scattered –
I imagine –
so late in the darkness.
(wouldn’t it be something
if I was wrong about the time?)
It is the city speaking
suppressed and inarticulate
through proper forms.
I live here,
a rainbow on dry brick.
Here you can’t paint over me
for more than a day.