Polished Graffiti.


I refuse the mask, there are no cameras

to catch my image, I wouldn’t care

anyway; the graffiti is my mark

and will, very soon, fade away.

I spray words of hope, anger, refined

and polished, screwed up ideas, a tag,

a tag of mine, wretched display of art,

this tag, this art, not for the faint hearted,

my display not fit

for comment as it is scrawled in blood;

fine lines of vein dripped venom,

remember, this is my art, not for hanging,

I’m not for hanging

in a gallery, in a frame,

but as I tag and create this large scale reminder

of who I am, know not, I have not been framed.


Ian D. Hall 2018