The wage of this shit is death

And destiny of being left

A name in a temporary 

Honorarium of illegal paint 

That next month a city worker

Will erase to clean the streets

And feed his kids 

And you'll be where

Awaiting some distant day 

Of rising to a rest

You never had the peace

Of mind to even dream

For one another

But asked to rest now 

In the peace of being

Given new names 

By those who love you

Enough to paint it





Kept together for now

In these letters used

To grieve and give you

Something to mean