Been thinking a lot about this graffiti in Krakow, and then wrote a poem about it.
Rivers run, malaphorically rich,
We'll burn that bridge when we get to it.
Overpass sea to sea seen as cleave,
Birds of a feather are worth two in the bush.
A tributary tribute to arbitrary perimeter
Lets the cards lay where they fall.
Curdled creme de la resistance,
Je ne suis pas Charlie.
Beyond it doesn't concern me,
And we let dead dogs sleep.