Fog Lights

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The rift extends over the horizon

and all around me

are shades and shapes

indistinct.

Soft hums

of far-off chimeras

echo in the distance.

The river of asphalt,

completely still

yet winds snake-like.

Pass the torch.

With the flick of a switch,

cast away the mist.

Burn it all off,

scatter the wolves,

the bandits

and the cockroaches.

Every puddle, pothole,

and patch of black-ice

exposed.

Every wayward wanderer,

given fair-warning

of approach.

Come with me,

I will forge

a path.

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Nymph-o-mania

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The Nephelae,

In their endless nebulousness,

Floated,

With empty jars,

Once filled with rain water.

The Hamadryads waited,

With breath bated,

For a little drizzle,

But the Nephelae,

Wasted all of it,

Once again,

On a parade.

So to save face,

They went to their sisters,

The Naiades,

To fill their pitchers.

“Back so soon,” they asked,

Poking their heads out,

From the running rapids.

The Nephelae looked at their feet,

“Use it wisely,”

Said the Naiades.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you”

The Nephelae screamed,

Dipping their jars,

Into the river.

They floated off, toward the forest,

Then the Aurae blew them away,

Over the Amphitheater.

“Now’s as good a time as any!”

And they dumped their cargo,

Onto the concert.