Fog Machines
Fog: By Carl Sandburg The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over harbor and city on silent haunches and then moves on. Who told you that your life would not be foggy? We sin much. Sin is foggy. We deceive much. " Sin ", is failure, being in error, missing the mark . Deceit is foggy. We need fog to mask sin and deception. Oh, everything ends in death? Everything except arrogance, that is. We need fog to dim our last mortal light. Sin puts out the light. Then, the fog rolls in. Confessions end with a flick of a switch and footsteps down the hall. A deceptive door usually clanks shut. Then, it all seeps out into the back streets. Once the back streets begin to move, the intellectuals and the politicians are swept aside. “A trumpet shall sound and the dead shall be raised, raised incorruptible” . Political fog is the weapo...