He was a masterpiece of art that never belonged in a gallery.
Painted onto the backdrop of urban life between city blocks and alleys.
He was made up of human experience and coloured in shades of grey.
Had a heart like a hoarder, that never seemed to fade.
Hair of red and eyes of rain drop blue;
He could look at old things and seem to make them new.
He was a splash of postmodern and deeply complexed.
Had features that made you think, rather than guess;
And in the mess of colour that exploded from his heart;
You could tell he was truly a wonderful piece of art.