a funny smell,
one of similarity, one of that urgency.
a counterfeit stench which fills the room,
becoming so strong; those who never noticed
now cannot sense
anything else.
a feeling of theft now lingers in that air,
the funny smell ever inflated.
too strong now for the once oblivious,
but they suspend themselves
in the weighted air,
waiting for the fog to lift.
the favored exhaust the fact
for what its worth.
its not worth anything;
they do not care to know.
the funny smell
lingers in the air
of vintage, becoming too
heavy to support a breath—