The Fog of 11/03/09

after work

family intercourse

the fog began to descend in the fall

the street was clear, the sky started to blur as a hope

the murkiness kept dripping until the wife beater across the street

turned into a sound

it came through my window into the kitchen

enveloped my immediate sight

I thought I could escape

the smoke I exhaled felt like home

on the stairwell was clear

I returned into the kitchen, into the unsight

I could've been spotted

the fog of my surroundings is not universal

the roundness is unflat

until then

I conceal the existance in my L.A. Kitcken

like the deathrow inmate hiding in the cell.