Last bastion, a clothing shop

An unending need

for an illusion

for an answer

for thin colorless salves of warmth

for undergarments, only, specifically -

were procured from

392 Court Street.

all of these make your own weapons

to defend from those cold never,ever, stopping

brushes of color

just did that much more

to make the passengers un-unique.

already old,

they were rushed into

shallow graves,

treading a beaten path

that harbored sirens underneath.

crying names of passer-by's,

lifting the boards on the floor

carefully putting down the already warped ones

finally feeling guilty

carrying with the strength of a green fog

disguised as a musty smell

over dust and smudge filled glass counters

that tried to hypnotize them even more with a memory of a day

when the ocean was see through.

Marked boxes was the form of insulation from the outside waters,

easily organized for those easily flustered.

This way for

undergarments for cold nights,

answers for cold hearts,

illusions for a dying breed.