The city slept on me

Cold bench bed
Newspaper blankets
Stuffed inside
My ***** clothes

Hiding under
Overhanging
Balconies
Or laying on steel grates
That coughed up
A little tuffs of heat

Till the sound of feet
Kicked me
As the mad masses marched on,

March’s farm of snow
Cultivated stiffness

Rigidity
Became my dream

Death became
My warmth

Hope melted
Faster than
Those flurries

And I was buried
Under a layer of
Human coldness