in the suburbs

the house won't leave the front lawn buried
its feet and tail in the backyard;
the trees dangle leaves blow lazy in the windswept
dust ruffling empty streets of clean paved charcoal dark
black cement.
a toe tap sidewalk touch and the birds exult
tweetle singing praises tootle whispers in the wasting breeze they went.

but there's an eye for every eye we spend when we cross our paths
our shuffling feet coinciding upon these dead and empty ends
so spend a dime for every
time a minute dies;
inside the hours click on by and
saturate the air.
the musty smell of pages
turned
compiled soaked in skin flake musk,
a seething sun, a new day earned
and sunlit dreams in disrepair.