Scrap Beat

Good morning my ears are freezing
I can see your breath in the air and
the air is fresh with a haircutty smell
tin hats and an oral history of coats
last night we watched from the window
the cowboys’ Friday night fist fights
rabble-rousing filled the night air and
street signs breathed neon in to the sky
all the cats had taken off their clothes
and sprung sharp-clawed up on the walls
but this morning is like a bouncing ball
that’s lost it’s bounce and has stopped

My ears are freezing and I can
see your braith in the haircutty air


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