The colors that have splattered are
the markings of my mind.
They are full of bright sharp edges
with soft circles at each line.
Single letters tell a story
each with bold and curvy strokes.
Sometimes loudly, sometimes softly
but each layered in the mold.
How I wish a pretty picture
could these images portray.
But instead, they are the markings
of a burst of cans array.
Have you ever painted over
walls that never seem to end?
It's impossible to phantom how
graffiti stays on sand.