Let's sit under this highway off-ramp roof:
remove your gloves and my fire will warm your palms,
and direct your gaze to my personal beach.
I do not swim because the river is cold
but each night it turns orange and the buildings
opposite yellow and signs red and the purple sky spirals
with gray clouds. I like life here, but the person in the next tent
keeps saying "lop heads, eat lead, lop heads, eat lead."