The fog against my face is fleet and chill,
inspiring me to processing inside
my panoramic plans; my acts of will
and attitude; a deviance; a tide
as tubular and strong as lunacy
creates. Now morning blares the fog to haze
while I involved revolve philosophy,
and burn in words to annotate my days.

The sunlight brazens silver mist to piss.
It thins the air and yellows atmosphere.
The shadows out of nothing form and this
distracts – it interrupts. Be still, I here
inside myself. Attend and make good work
of time. It’s either that or dwell in murk.