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