Sweet scents betweens strangers--
no knowledge past smell and intimate odors.
An affair of the nostril; an early-morning
endeavour of the eye to expand lust's perception.
They know their places--
fifth seat in from the rear of the
second car from the front of the
6:15 express--
and everything is right,
but will never be anything more.
Just something from this morning since I haven't posted in many a year. Nothing good.
Almost every time I take the 6:15 train to Philadelphia, the same moderately-young woman takes the seat next to me. We never speak, but it still feels like we're familiar with each other. Comfort in consistency, pattern, and routine, perhaps.
She smells really good. Or her perfume does.
I guess I'm a creep for thinking about it, but, being stuck next to someone--for an hour and a half-- who doesn't reek versus someone who does often makes or breaks my day.
2 comments:
Total babe.
Kind of an edgy poem though really. Wasn't sure what to make of it at first. It has very strong fetishistic overtones. Made me fairly uncomfortable, but also amused.
It called to mind French poet/playwright Antonin Artaud's 'Theatre of Cruelty' based on the belief that a work should affect the audience as much as possible.
It's succeeds in that respect as a poem in my view if only for that. There's a definite element of uncomfortable closeness, which is fascinating since it's so obvious that it's about the the comfort and closeness between two people.
the romantic kind of trifle that constitutes most of my body of work*. as a poem, it's terrifically consise.
if i may, i would challenge you to build a poem around this stanza. just if you're ever in the mood to write and the inspiration isn't coming - it's something that would interest me. amen, brother.
*"work"
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