Sunday, April 9, 2017

clouds, or fog

it’s just a hint, really. a whiff of acrid smoke
sickly sweet, like you just stepped in dogshit,
and haven’t had the chance to clean your shoes.

i know that smell, and wonder if this is how i smelled
for the better part of a decade – surrounded by a cloud, or a fog –
like flowers, maybe, oblivious to everything but myself;
skin, self-contained. other smells fill my mind:
sandalwood, patchouli, ylang ylang.

sitting in my apartment, sometimes alone
and sometimes not alone. reading, writing,
making art or making love. one way or another,
it was hiding. so many things were hidden.
so many things.
                        i wish i could remember
more about those days. those moments
are fugitive still, they sniff around the edges
of regret, always just out of reach, firing
the limbic system, amygdala and hippocampus
shaking hands and lighting up
the past and present.