Fog

I lost my phone I lost my mind I lost my heart

and a perfect camera

In the fog 
I lost my coat I lost my cat

I lost my sense of humour

so shoot me with a yashica

Just for you I’ll look cold and morbid

Distant surreptitious irrational

Pushing my bike uphill

In the fog

My life is a slow implosion of debt regret and doubt

Edited to perfection by the cutter the cutter

Making a cruel montage of my fatal miscalculations

Having them vie with one another

For who shall have the loudest laugh.

Bill Brandt loved to snap the fog and smog and dirty chimneys

He was the king of the fogtographers

Hard fogs black as snow by the side of the A1 and other roads

Like acid smoke in Brownian motion

Like a delayed report from a snipers rifle

Like an exaggerated report of my demisel

Which turned out to be an accurate postulation

Although the body will never be found

Incorruptible as it were

As David Niven’s oily teeth in a matter of life and death

Lost in the fog of love and war

Lost in the fog like he was I am

Like a little hedgehog looking for an angel

Lost like an alcoholic’s 2002 sportster BMW

Lost like the house I bought to give to someone I didn’t like

Rather than go stark staring mad

I am just a mangled piece of bloody magnet

Spinning on the blunt point of a rusty spike

I have surrendered to that end to god on a haystack

Been blessed by the black dove of the fox hole

Benedicting me with a kiss of her feathers

Flying away with my heart in her beak

To keep it safe and warm in heaven

The next part of enlightenment is as easy as that jimmy

That’s how i lost another layer of ignorance

Like I lost my least resistance

Like I lost my backstage pass

Like I lost my love and hatred

Playing in the soggy grass.

5.04.09 - Moscow

Painting - Turner - Rain, steam, speed.