Man In The City
For a man they never found
He smiles in supermarket aisles,
his face drags along in post
mortems soon after -
on faded cctv;
he walks a street that slips and
slides from Sundays,
the listless leaves clamped on
sports car windows,
soul music lost and found - on
nearby antennas;
they'll find his face someday,
pressed on beds of murder, an
emptied 50 cent novel,
a half full whiskey bottle -
and the lights switched off in
shopping centres,
feet muffled
in a dying swoosh of
listless-leaves.
They watch his face press a cctv
screen -
screaming, laughing;
the city's finest whipping boy -
the blackness burning detectives' marriages to a point of no return
Risky Business -- Shepard Fairey
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