Enigmaphrenia

My Fear is a
disorder
that defines me
and shapes my
perceptions.

I knew it would be a good year for fog
which, like dark wine, ages and mellows
and comes into the fullness of its flavor.

The old man sees           Newspaper headlines
the music of regret         speak in ancient tongues

             We all journey in mystery
             tapping white canes in the dark
             corridors of passing Time

A flying arrow's head of geese
seek refuge from a wintry
embrace
while satellites orbit the globe
stripping away the carnival
masks
of all that we want hidden,
telescopic viewfinders narrowing
our focus, piercing the Veil
like laser ice-picks stabbing
through tissue paper.
        
                I feel the disease
                proliferating
                throughout my cells
                and the Fear sings,
                becoming ascendant

The fog flowed spectrally through
the cracked window of my open yawn
and I could taste
the fleeing mind of a spider
stalking its invisible web.

Questions and fear,
disease and
perception,
Mystery steals
my wings.