I never wasted time
on that scent, that scent,
because I imagined sulphur–that’s knowing.
Knowing without knowing, and not knowing
you’re unknowing, that scent I thought
would be the end of it all, a dark room
with a single tungsten light bulb
with Cirque du Soleil aspirations auditioning
from the ceiling, above the last smoke
of an understanding glock,
and that scent on which
I never wasted time.