Vandal

Nestled in the folds of the mountains,

I walk through a place reclaimed.

I am taken in by the sweeping curves of crude oil tanks,

and dilapidated walls of industry before me -

Riveting and soul-swelling as the snowy peaks that rise up behind them.

Graffiti is scrawled on every surface.

There are layers of images,

Paint on top of paint -

Thick extrusions from a concrete surface.

I can imagine the pilgrimage to this place.

A procession of figures,

carrying aluminum cans like sacrifices at the altar.

The crisp clear air filled with the reek of aerosol.

This place has a sense of sacredness, an ache of reverence.

If the human mind was tangible,

A place that could be wandered through,

it would be like this.

Our hopes, concerns, and experiences

imprinted and overlaid on walls that are crumbling down.

The relentless mind-chatter of the quotidian,

scrawled over our greatest insights,

obscuring them from remembrance.

A cartoon bear with his mouth wide open,

exclaiming “Set out and konquer!”