Cityscape

Concrete avenues giving up to stacked boxes,
Brown, yellow, white, and grey: all slandered
By the scrawling signatures of the starstruck.

Graffiti is the scepter and crown of the streets.

Fame for a fleeting splash, to be whitewashed
Covered by petty landless gentry, carving fiefs
Beset by the kings men, drawn and quatered.

No way in to the right circles, or out of the cycle of
Impotent rebels masturbating their intellects to pour
Grease on the sleeze tracks, into innocense station.

Each porter vies for the other’s pasanger, predatory,
Statitory, it’s all the same story, wrote fresh on each
Gleaming skull, covered by personality, demanding

Instant grattification of desire, neverending, growing
In intensity, flanked step by step with futility. Each one
splitting the veils of realization. Darkness is your night.

Disks of burning gelatin float along the eye tips. Ping
Cracker-Pop mourning glories sprout from obsidian
Curvitures, spine like needles dig their trailing course.

Along ribbons of old bones, each producing armies
Attatched calcified parasites forming rows of broken
Smiling idiot boxes-Brown, yellow, white, and grey.