Outside is the traffic

Fidgety, fretful, fuming
    screeching, shrieking cars.
Frustrated people everywhere goad
    each other,
    waiting to explode
    on this very road,
    erode
    whatever little emotion
    I have for my kind.
My dreams are too graphic inside;
Outside is the traffic.

I need
    low frequency-response,
    in-ear noise-cancelling headphones,
    a fancy, fast, state of the art smartphone,
    a camera that says DSLR
    and at least one complex metaphysical inner war
    to place carefully
    between my breathing space
    and your face.
So, I can toss this acrross,
    it’s loss guaranteed
    in the streams of our social networking feed.
Outside is a stampede.
Inside is a poem sprouting from my need, enigmatic.

Outside is the traffic.