Capital Limp

In the smooth

Drains they emerge
And in the sun, they put
His cars, and his houses, they
Take his cheeks in their hands
And carry his water.

It's not out here, one says
We all wait for a while, feel the waiting
And the cold morning.
I have nothing but the air that I breathe
Says another. I consider myself,
Put my hands in my pockets,
Kick a rock.

Between black overlapping trees
The shower, underneath
We are targets, and our faces melt
The sleet.