the brownstone warehouse roof
to spray paint their message
a hammy script corner to corner
where bridge traffic has to look
the telemarketer just laid off
the aggrieved low-rider posting
a cigarette in his girlfriend’s mouth
welders receptionists minimum wagers
business suits in empty vans
all bypassing NARCOVEGANS
senseless with a bite of sense
we’re not meant to understand
They got exactly what they wanted
I made you look you dirty crook
I stole your mother’s pocketbook
I turned it in I turned it out
I turned it into sauerkraut
They must have scaled down
in window washer harnesses
fluked the word across the grime
then flipped and dangled like bats
to study the city upside down
a dark blue lake and in that lake
a white cuticle and starry
bioluminescent fish
the lake surface spiked by flat-top
towers wigged with black concrete
and headlights’ molecular strands
more vexing messages.
W.S. Di Piero, “Somehow They Got Three Stories Up” (via words-in-lines)
graffiti always makes me want to write (brilliant like this) graffiti poems.
His palms are sweaty, knees weak arms spaghetti there’s vomit on spaghetti already mom’s spaghetti He’s nervous, but on the surface he looks calm spaghetti to drop bombs but he keeps on spaghetti
A webcam in Szentgotthárd, Hungary captured this curious bird looking into the camera. The webcam is set to shoot only one frame in every minute, so what are the chances?