Graffiti

The Changelings had shrouded you in mystery
The kind you prefer
You insisted on me
But you’re AK’ing holes in my last clemency
I’m a human only
I can be rickety
Sweet opaque angel
This sounds like a fable
You’re simply unable
To exist in peace
The pockets of sunshine
Defined by your star signs
Could be really good
It’s so nearly good
Maybe really good
Maybe next week
You say that your apple falls far from the tree
It’s a cider town
But an unfruitful dream
And if all straight and narrows are this crumply
Are we urban art
Or just graffiti?
The buildings are run down
Electric is running out
The wrecking ball looks out
At 88 ivories
If a thing’s looking splendid
You shouldn’t have to mend it
Could be really good
It’s so nearly good
Maybe really good
But not till next week