Early in the last thought, I walk, seeing the fog.
Strange sighting. Houses, lights, pavements of pinching...
Piercing, numbness. Under the lab of lubrication.
I slide into the new, scenes to be forgotten.
And merely under under the spell of another, sun.
Whose's moon meddles so muddily.
Moments of time, spliced under the mind.
Buried under the chamber. Of earful taps. By...
A finger's bone, cut and cold.