stream of consciousness poetry
The blazoned trail of the graffiti alley is a serpent
of ironic journeys without niche moving through tousled nests
lost in the sea of sameness with the downtrodden voice, a displaced feeling of being buried alive, left to unearth the drive to hone in, to find home.
Orienting without a compass with a deep sense of a jury’s deliberation
spreading like oil in the puddle after the rain
turgid places of surreal, swollen conundrums
of Pollock, de Kooning seeking the buried still through abstractions.
From a peripheral angle seeking an innate rhythm
as the crows fly or the lion’s roar, hieroglyphics
of the street artists turning their backs to judgmental ranking
activating the rebel’s path in the meaning-making of things.
Transcendent homing records of voices otherwise lost
tagging iconic non-oppressed communing on the dermis
protecting the soul and chalking the walls of the precipice
inking to their tender votes towards empowerment.
Juxtapositions purposed to embellish the ebony of vanilla
argue for the rainbow into synchronicity, not synchrony, of sameness
of diversity, together, to nurture exposure to the natural vibrations
the ether of symbols, truths to unravel to have a voice.
Scaffolding creativity in the radiant ohm
to move out of superfluous spaces of empty lives
to bring the edgy energy out of the puddle into the inguz of things,
for a higher state of being, with a will, there is a way.
~ namasté, Leah J. 🕊
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