Ignore the empty sky. Its tenants slum
The streets as little lords of filament
Who yearn the desperate adulations found
In boozy shades and suicidal moths.
But look away. You’re no celestial beast.
You seek the baser things, the jasmine blooms
In balmy night that, shy of solar gaze,
Breathe only in the dark. Go lean against
That fallen firmament king, and dream, and dream,
As window music from apartment three
Beseeches you, “How high the moon?” above
The tidal roar of Wilshire to the sea,
And know that you have no answer to give;
Although the many angels walk with you,
You’re asphalt bound, and no ephemeral thing.
Do not wish for more, but look away.