Jailhouse Of Fog Poem by Mark Heathcote

One by one, city towers disappear
And we're wondering, were they ever here
Or were we hurdled back in times past? It's queer
It's peculiar they no longer up-rear
How does something so mammoth disappear
And yet our skyline is a concrete tier
That just seconds from now might reappear
It's easier believing they weren't here
But skylines are tainted patchworks of glass
It's a marvel to us, lower-class?
Head scratching—wondering should I disappear?
Would they notice I'm gone, no longer here?
Weird asking egotistical questions
Shrewd in knowledge, we've fewer perceptions.