Saturday, September 26, 2009


I had to get up ~ tag up like a disease
My hand to the marker would freeze
Never got busted by the police
My vandalism did increase
Made me a graffiti sticker beast
Spray paint, steel ball - shaking feast
Busting colors like caps
Sticker slaps
The world and I would interact
Fat markers in pockets packed
To get my name fame
Artistic acclaim for the graffiti insane
Those who died writing on trains
Scaling walls and road over hangs
Those crews and gangs
For FC and MPC and living graffiti legends like CRASH and LEE
I used to live and die graffiti
From marker stains
to the chemical smell of permanent markers swirling and bleeding into black books for artistic crooks
For city marching over dark blocks
tagging up and hitting perfect spots
Blending colors of icy grape
make wild style shapes
Midnight bombing runs
Burners and throw ups
Getting raided and buffed
to high speed fence jumping
running to escape 5 0
to staring down a graffiti rival
Fat caps and bubble letters
Standing on the shoulders of others reaching high spots with paint that last forever
Outsmarting drips
Cutting marker tips
From dazed eyes from too many forty dog sips
Drawing crazy characters with blunts dangling from African lips
From dissing toys with my homeboys
Getting that jungle green piece rolling over elevated tracks
back when wack meant wack!
Sitting for hours just watching window down and full car flats
The 149th street writers’ bench
Before graffiti went to Europe and spoke French
Before the clean trains erased the name fame
I loved seeing my name rolling IRT, BMT and MTA trains

1 comment:

  1. Wow, never thought of graffiti in a poetic type of way but you did a good job of it. The flow was quick but that's how life is in graffiti. Artistic and fast in a dash.


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