Uncovered and wrinkled is my sack, a
gigantic hump on my back. Frost
clutches to these old rags, my body is
covered with burlap bags.
My flesh like ashes, my face tinged with blue,
and my chest rattles, my lungs sucking in the
morning dew. I have traveled on the railroad
back and forth, does not matter where, south
I sometimes walk city streets when they are
dark and dead, yet the side of a railroad is
where I make my bed. I eat my food from old
tin cans; I will steal candy from little hands.
I scream for the warmth I see coming from the
riverbank, a bright fire, from this cold I do tire.
I think that I am burning, I smell smoldering hair,
and my arms are thrashing in the air.
I see evil darkness, what is this madness, I feel
spiritually ill, I gasp in horror when I realize that
I am dead. Here on this cold and damp riverbank,
alas… someone has severed my head.
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