observations:
the fog smells of watermelon
i am writing little zen haiku
walking along in the tall grass
there are many sounds

like the one of the fog rolling in
as slow as molasses
and i am wanting to swallow
thins moment and
dance in the sticky night

it will be time to sleep
outdoors soon
where the air floods our lungs
and we see clearly
because the cold fresh oxygen
(that we are missing)
is the only drug you could ever want