Grace Graffiti

Do you want my silver,
or my gold? I have grown old
and tired of counting
such ambient, exponent
-ial things. I long only to sing
in snippets of sun
-shine, swallows of rain
and tears.

I’ve spent years
(infinity)
duped and daubed
and drowning in my own
protest songs, playing blue
jazz with tired toes and
sticking my nose into the center
of other people’s unfinished
documentaries.

These city streets
are swept and kept and
swollen with syllables
I no longer know
how to play in any
minor key, pushed quiet
by my own un-de
-cadence.

Give me back my
animal instinct for violets,
my ocean planet spill,
my indigo sea
life,
(turn)
styled and set
for fingerpainting greatness.
Chalk something
on my forehead worth
saying, worth staying,
still
for.


Awesome word list from my Shawna.

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5 Responses to Grace Graffiti

  1. I can so relate to this one. “other people’s unfinished documentaries” ha – isn’t that the truth? And “I no longer know how to play in any minor key” — That’s me exactly. Tired of it all. Except for dear mother nature.

  2. minthe says:

    Oh my. This is incredible! I must save this to return to when I’m having another one of “those days.”

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