Alley-blown snow settles peacefully
over the freedom of the dispossessed,
muffles their howls
up twenty-story nightmares
Dressed in costumes
from decades few remember,
they stand stooped in storefront glare,
defying all that’s sane and certain
Suddenly the bottle is empty,
the sky unravels and they curl
into the madness fuming from a grate —
curs with uncut hair
Together they will be raised
at that most marginal of moments,
come broken-toothed and marble-eyed,
scratching at the panes of our sleep