Conversation Self

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dearest mind.

In regards to these confines-

I find-

That these once vibrant city streets-

Are somewhat bleak-

Blanketed in sheets-

Of smoke-

That choke-

My throat-

It’s a joke-

I’m a simple bloke-

Not asking for the world-

Just a little space-

And a little time-

A footpath I can call mine-

Not to be bashed or poked by bitter people with sour faces-

Aiming to get to monotonous places-

I mean…

Look at the colour!

It SHOUTS decay-

Seems like I’m the only one who hates it this way-

I wanna spray-

It all a HIP HOP RED-

Get the blood pumping into this city so dead-

Add a touch of JAZZ with MIDNIGHT BLUE

And SLIVER start that whisper ‘I LOVE YOU’-

I’ve got an awesome can of

ILLUMINOUS LIME-

Which no doubt-

Will gloss over this moral decline-

I’ll spray the pavement gold-

So people with no goals-

Will gain control-

AS they walk a heavenly street-

That’s no longer bleak-

The sound pumping out of these headphones deffo-

Sets the tone-

For my decision-

To kill off this depressing city syndrome-

My decision-

Is a mission-

Which requires-

Some precision-

And my art will be the new world order-

The VIBRANT provision-

THE REVELATION REVOLUTION SOLUTION-

To this environment-

So dull-

So creepy-

Bring back the SUNSHINE!

LONG LIVE GRAFFITI!

Written November  2009

-END-

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