Fog and Desert

let me now find verse, a beaming constitution
let me speak with great and moving words,
for we are dying, amidst the camels of the
desert, better prepared than I. There are
children with no fathers, dark skin, light skin
full and heavy hearts. we tuck in our shirts
several times a day, and point at maps of

birthdays, and birthday parties. let us wear
chuck taylor's, let us comb our hair to a point,
let us simply lie here and think things over. If
we are to revolt, we at least need a minute to
think things over. We could watch Lawrence
of Arabia, we could eat our fill of fast food, drink
our shit for coffee. the fog today was beautiful.

it lingered longer than welcomed, lacing in
perfect complacency the monstrous checkered
yurts and houses. an acre in the sky, making it
seem as though I need my eyes checked, hazy
as my future, lingering like my past. and we must
stay awake, lest the desert have its way, lest the
fog settles in and makes slaves of our freedom.

we must learn the dates and stages; the Balfours,
the Rothchilds, the Federations and Republics,
lest we not repeat those mistakes, lest we appear
ignorant. lest we cease to move. but I think the fog
beautiful. I think the desert refreshing in its unending
stability. I think the revolution underwhelming. so,
yes. let us sleep in quiet solitude. let us dream of

days and days of silence. let us stare at the fog lacing
lovely through the skyline. let us never recognize a
thing, but let us love. let us love. and I'll just paint a
picture of the progress, whether I can see it, or whether
I only imagine it. I will make a living speculating, setting
standards for myself, always to fall short. I will make
it pretty as I can, and stir a heart or two to think

that there is hope in the desert, there is life in
the fog, there is something to behold, all invisible
and burning. but there, in the desert, in the fog.


Listening: Moon River