Visionless Sometimes I want to live in an abandoned old hot dog truck on the beach a floppy red and white canopy over the counter window for shade and a faded yellow and blue Sabrett umbrella over the passenger side window a small sink and stove a tiny bunk a sort of a gypsy wagon like in the beginning of the wizard of oz and gulls can perch on top and call to the wind the waves can roll in and slap against the old leaky tires while I smoke a cigarette and lift a drink to the visionless ball of smoke in front of my eyes