One With The Vapor

He found an abstract kind of happiness
lurking in the fog that swallowed his town.
He couldn't see anything, he didn't want to.
The mist had taken over everything.
Stepping into the street it all felt so free,
he walked, loomed and hovered with it.

His arms felt like wings he started to pick up
his pace.

Arms flapping and a smile on his face
as the miasma filled his lungs, he ran.

The sound of a million birds squaking
the squealing tires of a braking car.

He was hit at the knees and went flying
into a field next to the street.

First and final flight.

Neither one had seen it coming until it
was too late.