private paradise starting to fall apart

I shuffled the streets,

searching for sustenance,

pleading for redemption,

petitioning the world

for some compassion,

a small heroic gesture

of tenderness;

an arm around my shoulder,

a smile from a place

where the soul sometimes hides,

where the spirit resides,

but never subsides,

where joyrides

cause wide-eyed tye-dyed brides

to collide with the ides of March,

forcing them to be pried

away from their pride and to

decide whether or not

the cry ever justifies the lie,

if the why is subtler

than the sigh,

if the I

is more important

than the my.