Beneath the crooked neon flicker,
Dunce cap leans on thoughts so liquor-thick.
Juggling bones in alleys slick,
Where even rats snicker.
The spray-paint streaks of Grim, Reaper clowns.
Scythe, rust pipe, hollow laughs, leaked stained teeth.
A punchline bleeding, look at you.
Just self-misleading joke.”
They rotate, slug through the muck, giggle,
A nudge was given, the fool’s guffaws.
Thought you would twist yourself from dirt,
Here’s your bow, eat the pain.”
Final words, just the thuds of spray cans.
Dreams, fate, now shattering, tagover.
Graffiti’s sin is a din of the Reaper’s cackle,
“Played yourself, end’s a spin.”
Blakeney-Rose Berry 