Fog Builder from Certain Sun by Sweet Harm

Blurring the lenses and somehow pretending that the shore won’t show. Hope for new endings but there's no fending off the burnt out bulb. The path is beautiful I suppose, but the sky isn't suitable because of all the crows. Fortune tellers can trace any place on a palm, but the moons can’t sweeten the spoon, a grain of sugar can’t block out the sun. Delusions and losing bets and how we can long to be free. Confused creatures just pulling against the leash. We exist between the dust cover and the title page. Another leaf about to leave. Like every chestnut tree that’s succumbed to the plague grieving for a former green. There’s a hole in every raft. I just heard about the worst hang session in Brooklyn. Another miracle just feeding the blaze. Fearing that the tip of the spear chipped off when we wasn’t looking. We were calling it fog, they were calling it haze. Stunned in the light of a calm and constant sun. Stunned in the light of a cool and certain sun.

• Punk
• New York