Walking these grey streets,
I brush a palm across brickwork,
There’s no pulse,
Behind this mask and under this hood,
These ocean eyes see no golden world,
No land of art,

It’s a blank canvas,
Concrete parchment oft marked by others,
Spray-can Picasso’s and urban scribes,
Little artists throwing nebulae upon bare skin,
Underpasses waiting for criminal blankets,
A graffiti louvre,

I want to join their rogues gallery,
Be a Banksy vigilante,
I want to share my kaleidoscopic hieroglyphs,
Contribute to this alleyway zeitgeist,
To bring art to a mundane city,
Spray paint resuscitation,

Damn the droll powers that be,
Those stifling janitors,
Bucket and water tyrants.

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