Graffiti. 

You see the paint,
the colors of artists
and madmen, those
who have a message and those
whose minds have no room
for what lies underneath,
too busy thinking
what color to paint
what already
had it’s own intolerable perfection.

About this poem.

I love graffiti. It’s brightness and vibrance, it’s “voice”.

I hate graffiti that damages other people’s creations, takes them over, and respects so little of the world around them.

Sometimes, we do graffiti to people and to their lives. And I have the same mix of emotions then.

Tom