Fog.
Fog. Summer is going to hurt you.
At the pier we. Ghost weather. Street
light. Lamppost? The scent of leave's
aspiration that only comes when the day is
turning. The dark forest. The blue pines.
Ghost weather. Legends of witch and bed time
s
stories come true. Candles between boughs
to set light to air
is all you need to be safe
they said.
Thick air. FOG. Wet air. FOG! Please
stay with me. Birds chirp as usual
do not be fooled
in the pines and woods there is only trouble.
In the dark and the fog, blue tint,
mist enveloping everything
outside of the range of whatever torch you make,
don't go!
It is foggy outside and when you can smell
the shores of the Allegheny from here
carried across senses,
its weight in every breath,
don't go.
Fog. Summer is going to hurt you.
At the pier we. Ghost weather. Street
light. Lamppost? The scent of leave's
aspiration that only comes when the day is
turning. The dark forest. The blue pines.
Ghost weather. Legends of witch and bed time
s
stories come true. Candles between boughs
to set light to air
is all you need to be safe
they said.
Thick air. FOG. Wet air. FOG! Please
stay with me. Birds chirp as usual
do not be fooled
in the pines and woods there is only trouble.
In the dark and the fog, blue tint,
mist enveloping everything
outside of the range of whatever torch you make,
don't go!
It is foggy outside and when you can smell
the shores of the Allegheny from here
carried across senses,
its weight in every breath,
don't go.
