our ogum

the city paints over the pillars on the 1&9 underpass
at least 3 times a year.
this slate gray laquor much more the vandal,
like the second wing attached to tut's tomb
which hid history for hundres of years until the x-rays saw benieth
or the sand blasted rhinoplasty of the sphinx.

it is an off key, one two punch, pulvarizing
our statement of purpose, our ownership of this stomach of a city,
a tattoo our mother hates.

why punnish those who risk limb, jail,
or black eyes and kidney shots for tagging off their own turf?
to scribble our names on the walls of our coffins; to say we were here
it is part of us, pulsing in our DNA, dipping out of our snot noses, drumming to the beat from our ipods.



....