You line up with the others.
An unscrupulous eyeball attends.
It’s been years and the drinking water
Remains suspect. Power
Continues to pool. You want it to be happy hour
But it’s not. Now you’re nowhere
With everyone else.
White teeth multiply
Behind the tinted glass of a limousine.
I’m wearing my black leather jacket
and reading Void Magazine.
An ATM at the edge of a void
leads to an infinite line of ATMs
stretching through space-time.
A rose planted on the edge of a void
drifts into it one petal at a time, forever.
Beauty becomes a long red drip.
Vaping at the edge of a void
feels like being attacked by drones
made of nothing,
loosed by no one.