The oppression of atrocious concrete gray building
Rising up out of ancient once-plowed food producing fields
Rising up beyond the peripheral field,
just enough to prevent us from wanting to look up
Clamping down on those who try
punishing those that remember sky
Jaded and dejected like zombies who forgot
what it was to be alive
The oppression becomes normal,
like the passing L train rumbling
Screaming we ignore and push from brain
Till we cannot see the extent of our current misery
The atrocious wall no longer garish enough
Spray paint can infant rattle vomits riotous color
Feeble defiance of the bleak industrial complex
(Heh, complex, indeed)
Denys the function, the structure, ignores the doors
Lays the letters of a fake name across as much as an arm can reach
Like lake effect snow outside the window
Lands on lawn and street alike,
A larger than life claim to a made up name
A desperate plea to be, to leave a mark
Like a surgeon scar or at least a tattooist or random
carefulnesslessness with broken glass (thievery b&e or cleaning up)
As hollow and empty as the statementless architecture it defaces
Equally desperate to be unignorable
An garish enamel scream shocking only for an instant
Before being assimilated into the pervasive background radiation
A muffled dream of an invented me, a feeble plea to Be, to matter
To proclaim an artificial self in spray paint splatter
A busy contrived riot for eyes rubbed
too raw to find value in plain, homogenous, subtlety
One more step in the arms race for attention
Have you noticed what I haven’t said,
how I’m circling it like a dead backward buzzard would a living hearted stag
Black marks deface white purity
The pen and the spray can are the same
These silent words, dead text becomes that woeful cry that desperate scream
Bourne of desperate craving to be seen, heard amid the speaking throng
The utterance of which will rend
Any chance of belonging…
Silence descends (I am)
like a virus
(I am)
Like a heartbeat
(I am)
Now
(I am)
.
(I am)
.
.
(I am)
.
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