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