Wolves howling into the fog
toward wherever we are,
coming at us like the sick orange bulbs
that make to guide our way,
but merely watching sickly,
drip-drop-drip
drops of cold neon green
sweet blood,
following along at a
quickened deadlocked pace,
as we lurch along
like the Chinatown bus
thirsty for $15 and
Baltimore's lights
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