An artificial, sweet, chemical smell
spell another curb-stone coup

Another has graffitied upon the chipped walls
Joining the marks of artists past
some of which are well crafted and uplifting
others are dark, complicated, and foreboding

Of course also; the cock and balls as a "Fuck you"
to the world (to me?)
then the phone numbers with their messages promising sexual favours.
With homosexuality still this secretive shame or adolescent prank

A "Dave was ere" scrawled over the previous beauty
a name to desecrate the nameless
And others in search of permanency jab and stab at the masonry

Dark subway places, that few dare tread
The pillars that hold up entire highways
The forgotten zones made into art for the few

Where lichen abounds in the damp of unshed urban tears
and moss fills long forgotten cracks; softening those rough edges.
Shattered bottles lie strewn,
emptied of their broken promises.
The shards scattered in shame as anger is doused.

Thrown to the concrete by a tattooed arm
tattooed to get the world onto skin
Grafittied to get the inner
onto the world.