Issue 154, Spring 2000
After a dingy rain I walked out
Through a world stripped bare of narrative,
A truce while the wet surfaces
On the long brick walls, human names:
Even the roofs were signed:
Across the gap.
Sun-brilliant silver spray paint on black tar.
A nest of interlocking signatures
Claimed an empty lot;
Another group of spray-glyphs at least
A burnt wall was no longer empty of.
As if to put mere ownership
(Small, careful signatures
On bluebound paper, stamped and filed away)
And the huge, sanctioned billboards overhead
On notice: We are here. This life is ours.
We found the city like this.
All unclaimed. The damp sidewalks
Crackle as I rattle my quick can;
The balls chuckle, mixing silver paint;
I range over it, and it is mine.