Scribbles and a black crayon
I pull my black market from my black pants.
We are going to mark up the city tonight.
Let us tag the walls with our black scrawlings.
Let us bring blur and cacophony to the perimeter.
Let us take a black crayon on some white paper and draw our dreams.
The black paint on my walls makes the turbulence captivate them.
Screams and shouts, shout it all out black words.
When I was a little I, I used to make little stick figures with guns in black.
I loved the sight of the little stick figures brains being blown all over that sheet of paper.
When I was little I loved my black crayon.
A can of black spray paint to tag the city walls with cryptic signals.
Messages for the others to read.
Me and a black crayon drawing spirals.
Spinning black circles in the black nights.
If music had a color I would want to paint it black.
The song that I sing to you is a black song.
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