I walk that corner afternoon-
-there’s nothing there.
My nostrils flare-
-that olfactory dare
can’t even bare its truth.
At this hour
the power of fume-
scares away bloom
from filling this concrete room
with its glory.
But when I turn it-
early morning-
story goes full told–
-surely I’m not the only one smelling this?
I scream into the street-
but only my feet
call back as they meet
the pace of that sweet bleeding
-but when I return in the evening,
I only discover:
exhaust and dirt and needing.
I search bush over drain-
-but in my strain-
I can’t find the culprit.
I return my sunrise clock hand hit
and I’m refilled with this
burst of fragrance-
and I forget about the dog shit.
Maybe the world sees it
and I’m senseless-
all but one-
because in the sun
it’s like I squint too much to harvest
everything there is to see.
I can’t see you when I close my eyes.
But you can still see me.
Who wins here, really?
I have this secret perfume-
because I’m alone-
roaming road these times-
so can I call this cologne
all mine?
Pollution pervades,
there’s rust,
and grit,
and grime,
but in this moment
I don’t hear the crunching of earth’s spine-
or feel the slime of being alive-
rubbing tentacle over flesh-
I just feel the fresh and gorgeous press
of this stink into my chest.
It’s only just dawned on me
why I don’t smell it in the later day;
it’s because I’m going back on myself
so I walk the opposite way…
By Lyric Deep.
Lyric Deep™ 