Isn’t it tempting
to hang them up
all around and
suddenly fall into
this world of blazing--
and almost dirty--
art of color

And the element
keeps pounding and
pounding like an
acid trip--whether
you’ve had one or
not, it’s just the same

While the streetlights
softly serve you,
you look up at them
and inquire: why don’t
I love you enough?
But they just
keep on shining.

You’re still standing,
mesmerized, in
front of the
grunge store’s
sign, after an hour
or too

Isn’t it haunting
and selfish and
abhorrent, or do
you really even
care anymore
that we’ll  fall
into the same
trap tonight