i slept in a paint palette

and woke up plastered

to an enormous canvas

facing the night skyline

and all the skyscrapers

lit in brilliant city lights

i kept looking at all of it

a lucid, wide panorama

a bridge over the water

the lucent flow of which

captured the moonlight

in a li'l bottle of heights

i kept wonderin' about it

the audience who wants

all them endings to look

a tad over-dramatic, no?

and how they want ends

to leave them in awe of it

but what is wrong with

a paintin' that's abstract

a poem, not so dramatic

a night that is dissolved

in an uneventful silence

'n' nothin' special at all?