Eveery oncer in a whily I, laying down
sucking be my thumb
and being tired falling into cold sheets with clutched fingeries
gazing into cold be eyes of nightly and for
jack frosty brother, of sheets between which I wait for them

with beaming smile, but moreover,
with tears falling in youthful, yet
bursting through the door.
as I see, still, through wet mirrorred hallways, a hundred of us we in
many sweaters and sweated brow on warmer nights, climbing up and down,
and through the halls letting in of cold in, and sulking my thumb sucking, he is, I am,
and cold fingers, saliva off thumb freezing on clenched eyes tears, clenched fist fingers against the cold of my sheets,
ten of me in my room, observing reading, sleeping,
and me, alone just one, sleeping in cold sheets, the door wide open.

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