His poetry
is a mosaic
of shifting images,
a graffiti
of street-wise words,
bubbling inside
intimidating murals,
a fresco,
preserved fresh in the eyes
of time,
These shards
of colors,
I would climb walls to see,
Unseen hues
such that shake when they settle,
smother even,
before they release
a pent-up gasp,
and prick
with harsh needle points,
of a titillating

© SoulReserve 2016

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