The Party Generation
Graffiti artists climb To make their art In dead of night They scale buildings Or cliffs near train tracks Dangling as tired operators Whiz by, as winds shake buildings So that your commute can have Color. That's love. They buy spray paint Plot out intricate designs That you will see in passing And fail to register Just so that you have that chance To deign yourself too absorbed They are the tattoo artists Of the world. I climbed Everest And at the peak: Graffiti. The observation deck of the Duomo: Graffiti. In my first plane ride I looked out On the left side And the cloud looked like a pig And on it was a pink tag The sun Natures best graffiti artist. But forget the sun. Does the earth cry When we taint it? Should we leave the Washington Monument, Mount Rushmore The Space Needle As their own works of art? Or should we impact with paint And vision As much as we do with footprints And dollars Or are they Our new art? Are we the generation Of air rights And Chem trails And gun control And Internet surveillance As artistry? Or will we paint the Brooklyn Bridge White? Paint an american flag on the steeple of the Freedom Tower What will our monument be? Will we endure like Giza Or crumble like Ozymandias? We paint our bodies Pollute our earth with islands Of plastic in the ocean. Get a graffiti artist out there. Because this generations' art Is too typically garbage. Our planet, our generation, We need makeup And braces. Yeah. We can't change our ugly mug Or our receding hairline. But we should look nice if we're going To party. Even if we're twitter tacky On the red carpet Because at least we Threw a new color On that Bastille of groupthink- They panned Gatsby on twitter too. Read, read my lips That I painted on this earth As my graffiti Don't let your saccadic eyes See only lies. Find the beauty In your staycation It's your duty To define us as more Than the Party Generation.
