Art Fronts

Late at night, the first time in years

I step out to the streets of bodily fluid trash

junked cups that once held poisons of pleasure

and abandoned sidewalks.

Businesses shuttered

as if they'd never open again

Artists have emerged, cans in hand

it's time to bomb and make their mark

Tribal lines and animal faces

political statements and hidden messages

"It's for us to see and read, I don't care about the others

it matters that we can read it"

A hidden third langauge

one in every city of the world

not spoken just by immigrants or natives

but the artists of the night hiding by day

Some say it's a crime

others a nusance

I find it amazing

that something can either signal violence or love

All with the stroke of a finger tip,

a hiss of a can

and the inspiration of a youth.

A Decade Later