CUL-DE-SAC

Walking on a dead end street
another country calls the bottom of a bag,
I trespass on lawns
past neighbors’ closed blinds.
A hired guard roams in a Dodge.
I keep my eyes on the ground.

Did the Middle Ages ever exist?
There are still castles
and this is their moat.
Here, nothing intersects.

In this place of bottlenecks,
where there is only one way in or out,
there is isolation, then death.

In this place of suspicion
everyone must believe in something.
I believe in nothing
but strangers.