Blur

Since I am missing the aviation’s fog, I shall have it now on the bathroom mirror.I will blow it as bath water steam just to blur myself out for future and miss future planes in the tarmac and wait for their meal coupons.

Fog in dresser mirror is holding our sparrows pecking their serial selves in deep time.Fog hides them in serial mirrors like moms who are now our blurs, who watched shadows of our tiny bums.

That is fog that held rear views in an ongoing mirror of journey blurring bums and their old shadows.

That is a serial blur in the mirror we write in, our blurry poems about bums and their old shadows.