Westside Ghosts

invite the morning to wash over me
soak myself in the mystery
brought through by the fingers of wet fog
cars & buildings obscured
commercial messages disappear
hiding the pollution of our progress

the shroud of mist reveals our dreams
how we want magick
how we long for surprise
how we grasp in darkness
for a love so electric
it will wake us up
carry us through
burn up the haze
of dirty air and unpaid debts

the luckiest people in the world
scowl behind their wheels
the saddest people
so forlorn

lost in the mist of our own ghosts
haunting our troubled land
the fog whispers
everything will be o.k.
but
something isn't quite right