You Can’t Help Yourself



The anger that grows from

upstairs neighbors’ overheard disputes

    leaves you longingly looking at the windows in front of you

    you can’t help yourself


You can’t deny that the monotony

makes you a little sad

     you focus on the details

     that blur the image of everyday


And though you might say cynical,

the cynic pities everything


All you ever wanted was to feel good

   but there are wishes

   that never leave the body alone


While at the station, you stand like a bear

frozen in the summer exhibit

    while the world piles all around


Nothing is shabbier than

worn dreams that hang

    like an old man with an upturned back


You can’t help yourself

when the new moon and sun make you shudder

    though your eyes are almost shut

    they still flutter at the sight


Cities Past Dreams


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.