HOW I HIT THE FOG
How I hit the fog running is something
I 'll never know. I always thought one just
glides right through it; so this was a big
surprise. The world is a liquid and a now
voracious spot, consuming all other things.
-
Chocolate crayons seem to melt in three
dimensions. One moment after the other,
and we lose still something else. The
glimmer off the old barn-roof-cornet, it
seems to want to send a signal outward.
-
Donkeys and mules and horses and cows.
Maybe they understand things we never
deal with at all.
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