Lean, the hands rough skin
A hoarse greeting with holes
between my sand gnashing teeth:

a scary person
I am everywhere because nowhere
I'm allowed to be, give me shoes:
as long as I walk I live

Call me Job, I don't
believe God will save me
from the underworld
where it's warm in winter

till midnight
when the doors close. Whether I hope
to wake up from the cold
I don't know, maybe

I'll do what you do and push
it into the future
Then it doesn't exist