Seminar on Street Art 10: Bronze.
Liquefaction
of bucketed colour turns the heads.
Brainiacs
climb someone’s walls to apply a distant blue.
Consonantal collapse and revive extends a rough-hued gracious hand.
And codebreakers
abandon the hidden clues, return to reality daily.
Bituminous
air mixes with gold spraycan afterglow.
Coronavirus
calligrams by graf kings are coronated.
Hardedge
armoured vowels submerge softest brickwork tones.
And
deaths heads grin where contortion alphabets smile.
Tenements
overpriced underutilised wear vagrant monograms.
Stoked
on weed and horse, the signatories steal through the night.
Monuments
more lasting than bronze are their bluffs.
And
they replicate pyramids midst their high-density hieroglyphs.
Eating
rains, unfailing hail, wild west winds are for another day.
Here
one-word odes exist extant against the everest of forever.
Here
anonymous performers delineate silent their present location.
And
here behind supermarkets, on railway fences, their red flowers.
Little
magazines bequeath the decades with numbered numbers.
Handwritten
epistolary epics lend lustrous sentiment to a shoebox.
The
hand that signed the paper got off lightly.
And
likewise these walls face the music of passing traffic.
Such
personal esperanto surpasses reviews.
Such
broken english breaks open fractal figures of everyday tongues.
Humble
green, writhing green, urbane green glut the 2-D parades.
And
speak unto one another whom no one sights by daylight.
Grandiloquent
their names reminiscent of bagpipes and trumpets.
Disarming
their claims to a corner of a foreign field forever.
Disconcerting
their aims, the one from the other, still altogether.
And
yet yes their name awhile is now, their badge the latest news.
Super
the moon everywhere white or new as shades broad casting.
There
again where they round the corner to furtive rendezvous.
There
again blasting letters lasting, the olympic race for bronze.
Where
glorious testaments rest unique in splendour for the days.
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