In The Morning Fog

In The Morning Fog

In The Morning Fog

The Morning Fog


Like early morning streets

Doused by spirits, sag

As cloth in sullen pleats

On a ransacked pile

So half-spent air cloys

Smoky. Clinging to low contours

And the spirit of youth

Long gone

Will not return


So it is again today

For me

A tourist in a barren landscape

Padding amongst discarded receipts

Those promises that bright eyed types

Casually dispensed. And cast

As loose seed for new lawns

And symbols of hope for those

Quick witted enough to cultivate


All of it somehow

Carrying sullen weight

Moon shavings. Mine

Blisters of light

With faint echoes that pulse

In patches on the worn contours

Of a small township

That now lives for hope

In the morning fog.

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