Fog was misting

The fog was misting - the crypto was descending.
it was the late innings - someone agreed.

in the big city - of holland and his submarine,
smart guy with a dumb phone bummed a light off me.

SAID
man those boots are played out
that umbrella's had it and some then
your feet smell like tuna in august
and your hair is taking on the mange
and your house is on fire in hell, sir
so go take the long way home
no one can tell me Jupiter's not blue
or neon aint atop new york's arch of triumph
but thank you for the light sir
tobacco will cure my bones

and
choir boy like,
he lit his butt where

the fog was misting - the crypto was descending.
it was the late innings - someone agreed.

                                                   - Jack Vaughan, 2018