to other styrofoam minds
smile
or move fingers

the cold incuriously steps in
voices muffled
by atmospheres pressing
fall short of conveying
words
meant to connect

the cold complacently falls in
traffic tangles
around misty edges
people shiver inside
face
same destinations

the cold inevitably comes in

he'd make his way across the floor folded up
the soup can was his dinner.

It's quarter to four
In Baltimore
Baltimore

Would you like to see