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
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