In the Neighborhood


Leaves of rust dot an aggressive sky

The blacktop and yellow lines that divide us…are covered with dew

Such as a, cold sweat from a fever that will not break

Friends to the right teaching from a treacherous dream

Tired and worn neighbors to the left…correspond to the dead

Across the great dissect…acquaintances no longer fed

With watchful eye, I sit on a weathered deck pondering…’where has my neighborhood gone?’

A mortgaged life singing her swan song

Original sin and I…obeying the wrong

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