Drawing crowds
I'm the painter in the park
Where no one is around

I'm painting the trees
     In the silent sound

            And the breeze
Under the birds wings
         Is wondering
Where everbody is

I sat there brushing fades
                       And texures
In the nature of myself

   I stared at the canvas
And saw the big picture
                       With my signature
Insignificant to how it would sell

          Drawing crowds
The skinny of invisible
  Scribbled in spirals
Downward falling up

      I painted so equivocal
With an assidous passion
That oscillated
Back and forth

Yet I couldn't draw a crowd
      With faces homeostasis
In any need to stick around

    It appears it's ineluctable
I'm a fruit that's a vegetable
Someone planted in a wound
               That wouldn't sprout

   And I'm a cartoon
Animated in a cell
Of pomegranate and pale

                                I'm a hotel
Thats sleeps on the weekend
When everyone comes to town

I'm the street when your knees
       Fall and scrape the ground

                                  I am the crowd
Assembling at the foot of my doubt

I could never draw anything
              With a hope to help
              Anyone out
              Drawing crowds