It is sad merriment
It stood defiantly for any and all, one
graffiti on the wall of a crummy, ammoniaced bathroom
stall, a scrawled out deviancy. Some two-bit poet's
angsty call; that single graffiti there alone.
Against the dull, sickly peach, a manifesto
of bullet-proof youth. From Sharpie's felt was inked
the truth, accentuated with a hail of word uncivil,
uncouth, exciting senses like sweet vermouth.

Walls've got ears and also mouths that
speak curses and jeers painted by the meek,
raging and furying in each blackandblue streak. For
an audience to preach their blue-eyed demagoguery
they hunt and seek.
That graffiti, that manifesto, the teared cry,
resting under tile moons and fluorescent suns, and
in the wrecked hearts where Sunday's fury forever
flows and runs. Hail that thesis, primal, sitting there
for one and all, in a crummy bathroom stall.