Cruel space

Upon a lost “soul” amidst

A “hunting” crowd

Filled with noise

From loud voices scattered in the air

Like bad perfume

.

Brutal 

Are the well composed

Beings posed in well

Pressed shirts and dresses

With neckties to match their distress

As they

sway from Street to street

.

The air is heavy

I can barely breathe

Without thinking

Of the vast bold air that linger 

On the open prairie

Of home

.

City lights shine

Upon sleepless beings

Headed every where

Or no where

They shine on me too

As I make my way 

Back to the lights under the moon

Far outback.

Susan McMillan