and as I walk these colonial streets
careful not to step on dead leaves
wanting to be part of the silent and calm
inobtrusive to the night
as it breathes cold into the streets of new england
it is the warm hum of a passing bus
the golden halo
yellow and orange
dark and
scattered molt of summers burn
the painful warmth of
sheltered hands
fear the night
fear the night
the cold can kill and
fear the night
fear the night
the cold can kill
I have walked from brighton center
to mt. auburn hospital
refusing faith in
acronyms
my hands burnt with fall presence as I fell forward
through the inevitable
but the cool dying air around me
couldn't be screamed at
we can only curse at it under shallow, shivering
breathes
as it chokes our bitter throats
fear the night
fear the night
the cold can kill and
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