I try to understand, I really do,
But mind will never cool the raging heart
Enflamed by spattered spray paint. What fiend fuels
The taggers’ need to vandalize? No art
Pretended here—just tags—rank escutcheons
Of wannabe nobility, pissing
Bestial turf marks, dank, defiant, brazen
Greed for recognition. Foul thugs, missing
The sentient dreams, the hope that floats most lives.
I hate a thief, but understand his need
To risk, to feed his family, survive.
But taggers only feed their egos’ greed.
They smudge dark scriptures (arrogant high priests),
Debase the world—gross, epidemic beasts.
or
Perhaps I’m missing something here—the glee
Engendered by the taggers’ furious ME!
or
[return, with your own closing heartfelt iambic pentameter couplet]
(6/23/09)