running between rails,

a small strip of unmolested snow.

don’t let them take it away from you

this ribbon shining and blank

perhaps the only continuous, innocent line

in the whole filthy city

kindred to the scraps of purity

gathered on the tops of the streetlights

on the windowsill where any moment

a pigeon may light with its foul claws

and leave some defilement

along the brims of officer caps

before they turn in from the night beat

to drip themselves dry.


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