| Author | Message | ||
     Theliterarythug Newbie Poster Username: Theliterarythug Post Number: 6 Registered: 11-2007 Rating: N/A |
Murals Tossed to the basin of a ghetto pleasure palace Turned asunder in a thicket that told too many tales Lies the painter , listless, shrunken, his face reduced To a metallic visage. Amid the evening drug run, he is a bother Human refuse among the living and the parasite A nuisance amid glassy eyed children getting a score And the stoney eyed killers giving it to them In the land of the rock and the blue tinted scythe They found his as dispatchable as rubbish Not them, Not somebody Not special But look, children, Oh you juxtaposing seeds Of easton ellis and nino brown, look all around you In murals in every place in every wall Murals. Yes, murals. Murals that turned wall’s into canvases, improvised dimensonal visions Where rappers, logos, cartoons and creatures exist in surrealist aerosol dreamscapes Murals that turned structures to templates and fusions of pictures, Spliced ads, interwoven letters, and melted collages served as his offering to the transcendent Murals that turned foundations into shapes, morphed angles, and Transformed geometic Point’s into their own composite world Murals that gave brighness, light, aerosol praise singing and an imagination dying For someone to cultivate it, to believe in it, to not pin it As a bogeyman, bird man, or little brown reason for everyone’s problems Murals said that I am ME!, I am special! I am vastly new jack and contain hood magnitudes , I am somebody beyond these ragged walls Murals painted by someone who could have gone to art school, Studied in Paris, And just might have been renowned If somebody had realized he was a talented young man That painted murals. Murals that, when he came to the realization That nobody would realize that he could paint murals, Turned Dark, bleak, gray, suicidal. Murals of violence, of the bleak and black textures of the world Closing in Of corpses, dark woods, blood alleys and corpses, of sad souls, lost faces, beaten bodies, brutal minds and corpses, of loss, toxic drugs, teenage madness and corpses, of human sickness, losing grip losing mind And many, too many, too many corpses And of a night where he said to the people who threw him in the thicket “I'd rather be a zombie And turn on my own god damm instrument Than ever be you.” People ••••• about vandalism, people ••••• about grafitti. I am haunted by murals. | ||
| Cynique "Cyniquian" Level Poster Username: Cynique Post Number: 10879 Registered: 01-2004 Rating: N/A |
Great word pictures. |
