the crude graffito bites
and my mind's eye ;
to bonsai the Venus trap -
becomes the fly
on the gall... where cinder blocks
crop my stroll with an odd
wall.
and i stare at the industrial
pittance of delinquent scrawl
punk spittal blistering
the bland strip mall.
i ponder the grit
and the feral **** of the blue nymph
with no bra. her two left hands
harassing her cannon *****.
a can of spray
where paint had been
now at my feet
faint and spent. just seen
as i stepped back...
i verify it's emptiness
by the tenor
of it's
clack.

i walk away
savoring the irony
of just
that.