The cavities of suburbia.

Overhead wonders soar by, trailing crystal fumes, etchasketching the sky. That way there's home, this way there's an older mystery. The clutter clatter of hard leaves on frozen soil, consecrated by dogs and Datsuns. These waiting bays, these resting places accumulate all pieces of the day. Piling up little stresses and discards. Scattering evidences of petty crimes by wind and the growling turbulence of impatient cars. Frictioned, weakened and vectored smaller day by day, they find the cavities of suburbia. Rolling in, trickling down, filling up. A new crust of sedimentary garbage forms, a new soil from our soiled lives. A wanton weed bed, ready to spawn.