I saw him today, the visage of a nocturnal city.
Hunched and gnarled, his foggy eyes locked in a state of almost there,
Toting a box of loneliness, and effluvia, and some of State Line Avenue.

How long has he been here? Thirty years . . . more?
How long has he patrolled this lonely strip of electric, neon prairie,
Shuffling along past just this side of consciousness, oblivious of the day.