«suburban lethargy»

suburbia sleeps (does it ever not?)
and the silence of its sarcophagus
is broken only by the fall foliage
that secretly snips its stems
and meets the ground, its maker
(if no one was there, did they make a noise?)

the streets deserted
the mist settling and freezing upon contact
are the only images
of this deep dark night
made less lucid
by the opaqueness of its thick silence

silence, so golden by day,
tonight seems calamitous
calm, so cherished by most,
befalls like death upon eyelids
suddenly snapped shut
like voracious venus fly traps
leading each and every petit bourgeois
into a fleeting flight they call sound sleep