About Suburbia
Everything
is white
and I feel like
I’ve killed someone.
The streets
are full
of silent noise,
lilies, acrylic paint.
The noise
surrounds us
like blood
and it’s
comfortable.
Our joy
is comfortable.
Waist-deep
and thick
and lazy.
At night
the houses lie
in wait
as if they know
what’s coming.
I feel like I’ve
killed someone
which means
I’ve killed
someone.
This is borrowed
happiness—
it needs to be
paid back.
So I trim
my hedges
with various
sharp objects
and wait
for my life
to return
and take
its revenge.