Annus Novus

January: wind huffs off the river.
Down where optimistic railyard ghosts
Await reincarnation, yet another drunk
Rolls himself into a locomotive boiler’s
Rusting corpse. We’re never truly out
Of the furnace, are we? Whatever bad castle
We scavenge from civilization’s trash,
It always thrums with our boozy snores,
Glows from the way we continue to burn.