Mouth to a Wall: Poems

Abstract

Uncomfortable with 'fine art'/ and 'trendy,' I scrape raw gravel across the walk-/ not to fill in the receding,/ weed-bitten hairline, or level/ the passage ground./ My shoes draw ladders in rocks. When graphics/ reach farther than words, there's more tongue/ than teeth. On the nearby bench,/ she sees that even chalk leaves a light print/ when rubbed out. The graffiti writer/ can add her own bench mark./ She can sign her name./ Graffiti is a mouth to a wall/ in life color paint dirt/ exhaust handprints storage for sound/ of words if words sound and mix and shape/ and line tether together. You write the air from your lungs/ sign your name next to the X/ and write the surface alive.