There’s a dirty smell of cans off the man, a bag hold-all with grubby tape, A4 sheets of instructions and a simple guide for how the wall will go. Legal or illegal it’s all quick and flow, squint and stand back for a look, on and on,no sleep till Dublin. The youth of these shoulders yet old mans thought. “Remember when?” no sorry, Dont.
The messages and colour pop up everywhere like proper landmarks that we need to get through and then like a flash he’s gone. Sadly drawn, badly into a scrap of all fights he was tracked and downed in one foul movement.
They say it was him, himself face down. It was his build, his stance and lean but the police won’t release the proof and maybe it’s untrue.
Still bombing? Still ready and live?
Set up to shut up the people crying out for the truth to be removed off the cities walls, “Thats too much truth to take”
Get rid of this terror truth,
Finish him once and for all, unless of course he’s really gone, breath a lot easier that Maser is Dead.