A waft of nothingness generates
no public concern in the tent
where they sell appliances
left behind once their owner is dead.
The camphor of the evening
descends on the last student
alone in his domicile
choking on unexpected tears.
One can only guess
the outcome of thinking. A little fog.
Some particulate matter in the tub.
My only wish is to make high quality pizza
for government men.
And to rid this yard
of its unnecessary documents
by the time I turn 30. A little gloaming
in my little luck light is all I need.