walk and walk.
the cold sits as collector
tracing the snow-stained
footprints and trackmarks
between the house
and the train station.
spacing strides amongst
the blocks of icy cement,
and pulling a coat collar
taut around my neck,
though i can't help but shiver.
the gas station glow
carousels through my periphery
making my cheeks bleed neon,
and brighter with each drop.

the lotto signs,
a broken promise
to the calm collective.
a slimy shimmer of hope
that would take you
for everything you had,
like all hope does.
but i'm not paying attention,
i'm down to a few crumpled bills
in my pocket, and not
a single ounce of faith.

the train station
burning in the distance,
a swirl of fluorescent beacon
and poor advertisement,
not unlike a god or
a way to go home.
though now just a way to get gone.

they say that at the gates,
peter may ask to see your hands.

the metallic heartsongs
blister in the silver-grays.
the hospitality is hardly necessary,
some things sell themselves.
i walk to the ticket booth,
and a man stops me,
he asks for some change,
some charity. his lips
blue and flaked;
what's left of his liquor
dribbling down
his chin, his shirt, his fingers.
i sit with him, i search his eyes,
the one bit of beauty
neither time nor nature can erode.
they're brilliant and simple and pure.
i put my last few dollars at his feet.

i'm down to a half-pack of cigarettes,
and an empty pack of nicorette.
smoke up.
I enjoyed the writing style of this piece overall. There were a few uses of alliteration with 'S' which gives the piece a smoothe, shimmery aesthetic quality and also reminds me of snow. Also the images of metal contrasted with the idea of life in an interesting way (particularly the lines 'metallic heartsongs / blister in the silver-grays'). A strong ending also gave an interesting take on the rest of the writing which made me want to reread it with that idea in mind - that we're driven towards vice simply because we lack other options. In all, a pleasure to read.