We walk on a sun-caressed path,

outside the toll booths,

in the suburban wilderness.



Feeling traces

of Spring

and awaiting wounds

while our new-old life is sorted

until the inner-outer is shocked.



Resting just next to an uninhibited wail.

(A gust of wind blows some away.)


The tragicomical is carefully transformed.

(Becomes witticisms to hide the sadness with.)



Your tunnel vision defiles you.