That one day, when the city has fallen
asleep and dim housing lights, sullen,
are outshined by the stars,
we will turn our ears past the violence that mars
the fluorescent tulips in my turbulent backyard.
Wheels that spin forward
under the shadow of lurking skyscrapers behind
a choleric sun, inconsistently halt and grind.
After erroneous decisions we will then seek
the rhythm of our desires, no longer meek
but pulsing – a thumping singular to only our ears
And in the shards of windows, the years
ahead gleam like clean walkways
where shine the moon’s rays,
cloaking cities of clamor with drowsiness,
ahead will come the sleep of gods and goddesses.