The raw smell of city sleet and rain.
The chill wraps the street
in a thin sheet of needles
as chronic taut muscles ricket, lump fetal,
struggle with every tedious move.
The mind dilates, swells,
floats through thick,
bitter and muddy sky.
Ice and grease lie stagnant in the harbor,
sparks rise from burning barrels.
The rats scurry like monkeys
feverishly scratch and bite infected tracks
on skin shriveled sugar-brown,
drawn close as dying clover,
decaying like thawed hung meat.
Meth-elevators rise to the next echelon,
synapses shatter and snap,
angels on the roof shoot soul-sought tangents
hoping to rape the rest of the day,
forget the cold, climb to nowhere.