‘Gettin’ Along’


The quotidian sky cannot temper

My ambivalence about graffiti

On national monuments:

The end of a revolution is just a circle

After all.


Each bristle of a brush

Or whirr of a wing

Can sting like an ingrown whisker

Or teach a small, subtle diatribe

Of patience


For waiting on the

Granite to reveal the profile

Of a son-to-be disposed

National hero and product pitchman

Or pitch-woman?


Pitch Person.

The dome of the world changes daily.

We walk on the roof of Hell  gazing at flowers

So wrote Issa, my favorite poet

Of all-time.


But you I like and could see letting you

Draw a mustache on his portrait

Though I think he wore a Fu Manchu

…no, wait, maybe it was

A Vandyke?


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