This Fog


i feel like this fog

hard to distinguish one thought from the next

my breath from a cloud bank

that settled down here

maybe early this morning... maybe 1807

when the ground never knew of such curious mechanisms

that connect us together... that drive me insane


i feel like this fog

dense as a mountain

formed by the ocean up over my head

that got lost somewhere... if i werenít lost, iíd tell you

iíve been given a number... iím waiting in line


i feel like this fog

with one swift wind blowing

iíd be halfway to Newfoundland... almost to Japan

almost to Japan... but where is your hand?

where is your hand?

i feel like i held it... like holding a memory

i canít understand because it never quite happened



Words by David Delmar. ©2001



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