December 6, 2015

lost in Wynwood but I found myself

deep within the part of the city

that hates

the

wealthy

those

gold-watch-wearing

suit-and-tie-snaring

opulence-obsessed

“weh-hell it’s a shame he died so young” rolling off their tongues

kind of wealthy

lost in the city as I

shadowed the walls

angry faces blurred into paint

as night began to fall and I swear the

street names

began to change

and I was

lost in the art

or between it, I suppose

the art keeps the walls up

or the walls keep the art up but

somehow they meet up

like paper and prose