the room in the afternoon, the sun is bare, the clouds now vapors,
the city is walked on.
the woman in the morning has died by eveningtime, the luggage unclaimed feeling
the winter's embrace sitting besides the bench,
the bus is late again.
the bridge stands waiting, the metal winds straining. the cars
honk, then crash. the pedestrians cradle wilted
groceries in their crisscrossed arms.
the stoplights are red and yellow and green at once,
and everyone goes in the cold,
everyone goes all at once.
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