The Surface

So here we go again,

With the loopty loop,

And the long drawn-out,

Typography letters,

Trying oh-so-hard,

To make an impression,

On complex minds,

Or simple minds,

Cursive, half cursive,

Bunched up,

Upside down letters,

Trying to be noticed,

And to make awe,

Or maybe trying to be,

Unique or boring,

Something along the lines,

Of insanity and serenity,

All wrapped up in one,

Big and bold,

Tiny and thin,

There is no,

Making sense,

Of these compilations,

Of letter and arrows,

Stars and squiggly lines,

Making an impression,

On a train,

The side of a building,

A canvas or notebook paper,

To be recognized,

By other young urban folk,

To call out your name without sound,

And to shock and protest,

To lie and steal from your mind,

It does not hide often,

But it can be sneaky,

Oh the urbanity,

It creeps along city streets,

Galloping and hopping,

From eye to eye,

Near or far,

It awaits attention,

Craves it,

Until covered up,

Only to present,

A new blank canvas,

To be further worked on,

And in due time,

Under construction it may be,

It will be revealed,

To further grab you by the shirt,

And say "HEY, LOOK AT ME!"

Creativity.