Snow under bare, blue feet
and we walk to where countries meet
beside the train-line that’s stuck on repeat
even fog recedes in defeat.
I’ll be here and gone for a while
I can mirror the clouds in their style
the food from the ground is all vile
these monuments are all we defile.
Dog beds and frozen sheds
of wood lined with stacked, creaking beds
we’re without food and the rattling meds
keep me up with the blacks and the reds