Dressed in my body, I go to the wall of fog
To see the fashion show of presentations:
A convict’s tin cup held briefly before me,
But there’s nothing inside; an empty book
Floats from the fog only to subside;
A black bird flapping is shot by an invisible
Rifle that reloads somewhere in the fog.
The bird inverts like a banana; inside it,
More fog. The grass is gray; the sky is gray.
The fog may stand for anything you wish, but
You may not stand in the fog.
I undress and turn away and exchange clothes
With the next man, who inexplicably
And out of his sound mind
Has come to the wall of fog to gaze for a spell.