Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Talkyedy Walls
The problem is I've been talking to WALLS most my life and found out long ago, they don't talk back but I've drawn on few of them, etched with my fingernails in the soft padded ones and admired the works of others who did the same long before I came along.  From graffiti tags, to the labeled billboarded mass, to the illustrious artiste, I represent child's scratch, like the cluck cluck of chickens, scratching for feed.  

I am plagued by graphite images in a bold black, whispering white world.  I sit in-between sounds to guide my frail ears, harped by codes and ciphers.  The catalog in codex confiscated the prior canons. Loss in dissipated antiquated languages, this poet speaks to walls.  

No comments:

Post a Comment