THREE YEARS IN THE SUBURBAN

Three years in the suburban

city,

and I’m

still wearing

my

ashen

readiness

to be burned.

I am silence

now

so

many

times I

can

hear

the other

side of fame,

fear,

Gomorrah.

The obnoxious

volleyball cries

at the beach,

bike

lanes

up the wazoo,

good intentions

breached

by

inaction.

This is where

I’m

still.