The suburban bliss on a May summer night
Pinched in the face by the distant June’s cold
Passing the baton to that of July
Blistering cold with an obscene face on
Molesting empty streets lit in suburban glow
Augustus winds ravaging all they can
Bathed in aromas relayed from door to door
A little relief in the month I was born
September, the amber for another suburban night
Then October the octopus with odd tentacles
Coming alive in a dream on a pimp’s yard
With not but an anchor to hack unripe wombs
Blood on slit tummies, the goriness of it all
Inducing pain on poor souls in the heat of October
As I by the trashcans stray and stare
At the hood resplendent in such inverted bliss
As the maid gasps with a gaping mouth
Shackled in a dream like some divine duality
‘The Octopian Conjecture’ like in some Mayday episode
The suburban bliss on a May summer night
Evaporated in the heat of a wicked dream
A stranger to kids lying in darker places
Prone to touts of pleasantries on naked platters
Thus the moon shied away and deserted the night
All in my sight before I could howl!
Literal Sense 