Fog, fog everywhere
And fog to think,
This soup tow which I close my eyes
And wake, shaking to the thunder
Of a highway I cannot see,
Drifting in to sift
Through fits of thought
In this wake-sleep
I think of as life
The albatross of self-awareness
Hung around my neck
Like a life preserve
But is but a millstone
Sinking me deeper
Into this fog,
And the more I struggle
The deeper I sink
Into this dream
Where rational thought
Ceases in the fog.
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