I feel like i live in area 51

shoved back
in the lurching quadrants
of rural missouri,
no one goes outside,
i never see kids in pools,
never see children playing on
elaborately built swing sets,
never see adults cooking on
huge propane grillers,
never see people just sitting
out front,
never hear the cocophony
of human noises i used
to hear in the throb of
midtown.

now,
i imagine the invisible,
secret toilings of
living beings that constantly
stay indoors,
even during california weather.

are they building top secret
alien structures?

are they the spawn of
something that should be hidden
from the rest of us all?

are these people real?

do they like to be alive?

the loneliness of
the burbs is the
full admission that
this is where people come
to escape everything
and this seems
to be
the best thing
these people are good at.

vanishing,
quiet,
solitude,
cease,
like
nearly being dead
with a heart full of
blood ready
to squirt into
all the
awaiting
extremities
ready to
burst into a big
bang
of
action.

each simple moment that passes

there are millions
of
tiny warm
arms
reaching up
into the
enormous
sky of sun
for
a bit
of
recognition
from
god
and
as
we
tumble
into our next mysterious
moment wondering
if
god
understands our
secrets hidden
within our
charlatan
requests,
i see
the sky smile
in
a
long cloud
parting
as
we
wait
to
find out
if
there
really
is
some
kind of
truth
to all
theses plants
growing
and
astronauts
going
insane.