In Protest

Slipping through their mesh of provocation methods and/
Dissolved of our oneness beneath circling helicopters,/
There/
It looked, tasted, felt, sounded and smelt like a revolt./
The pools of street light everywhere looked like fires/
As light slowly died behind the usual skyline suspects./
Enjoying our fill of suspended disbelief/
While/
Reminding ourselves to push further beyond,/
Fighting back against the rose-tint of nostalgia/
And/
Committing to surviving this existential turbulence./
We stare up through twisted overhead power lines/
Armed only with a paper plate rainbow finder./

With fingers crossed we all find the right destination,/
A throng of heartbeats, all dark eyes turned skyward,/
Where/
Billboards pulsate into these awaiting dilating pupils./
Paint drips down a window drying on its broken glass/
Below balconies of balaclavas trudging roofs in boots./
Stating claim on each monumental vestige;/
This/
Surviving evidence; old hat in their tricornes./
Air filling all our lungs in time with every drum/
As/
We pace in unison beneath our stenciled canopy/
Because persistence in belief lends it meaning/
Unrelentingly calling for their attention to linger./