spray cans

I see the overpass, the white brick buildings...unremarkable, undistinguished.  I see blank spaces and I see voids.

I see a blank dawn, a vanilla sky.  I see a cloud with imperfections...I see a road with blemishes and potholes.  The backs of cars with taillights.

I see front doors, garage doors that I enter time and time again...I recognize the room view, recognize the shapes.  I see the melting of all things that are familiar into a recognizable lump.  I see them colorless, gray and ordinary.

I see the pale people, the strangers and the familiar.  I sense their sameness.  They are all the same.

It's like in my pocket of my coat is a can of spray paint...an iridescent color...provocative.  Evoking.  Something that stands out, catches the eye.

I would love to just press down on the button and release the colors.  What would I write?  Your name?  A script that maybe people could read?

I'd write it wherever I could...the sides of cars, on the sidewalk in front of work.  I might add a decorative heart, or an arrow...hell a smiley face.

I'd think about you coloring my world, my sameness...with your provocative name and your presence.  You provide the graffiti to my day, you write on my white overpasses, you write on my boring garage door.

You don't try to...you just do.

In my mind I would try to share with just a few people your name, and write it in big large letters.
So that I could see it for just awhile.

And have people linger and stare and wonder who that person was...this small bit of art.  This small bit of you.