Graffiti moon7/3/2023 I take my hands off the brakes and let go. It’s the heart how it really is: fine veins and atriums and arteries. It’s not a heart like you see on a Valentine’s Day card. There’s one of Shadow’s pieces, a painting on a crumbling wall of a heart cracked by earthquake with the words Beyond the Richter scale written underneath. There’s lightning deep in the sky, working its way through the heat to the surface. At the top of Singer Street I see the city, neon blue and rising. I want to run right into Shadow and let the force spill our thoughts so we can pick each other up and pass each other back like piles of shiny stones. Mum says when wanting collides with getting, that’s the moment of truth. I’m so close to meeting him, and I want it so bad. An artist who paints things like that is someone I could fall for. Paints guys with grass growing from their hearts and girls with buzzing lawn mowers. Paints birds trapped on brick walls and people lost in ghost forests. Left Dad sitting outside his shed yelling, “I thought you weren’t meeting Jazz till later. Took off under a sky bleeding out and turning black. Your graffiti guys Shadow and Poet are here, Al texted, and I took off across the night. Where people sit on verandas, hoping to catch a breeze. Down Rose Drive, where houses swim in pools of orange streetlight.
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