Make Sense

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.

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