olfactory raze the wind bends scents so far from what they are to begin with that by the time they wend their way to me i'm smelling nail polish when i know no painted protein has sunned itself to coax wet gloss into caking. i breathe in the exhaust fumes of faltering engines repurposed as the pith of maple leaf cookies. the kind that bleed buttercream when you bite into them. rigid metal ducts expel moisture-laden air and lint from damp clothes. a beguiling perfume no vial can contain. the thick stench of pot smoke is transmuted into weaponized essence of skunk. barbecues and bonfires are the masticated memories of artless liars. when i was a child, i would sniff my skin and make a meal of my own uncooked meat. to prove that my life was more than a series of scenes in a strange dream without end. now my teeth are sheathed and i gorge myself on the inedible, ineffable nectar of being known. 260505 what's it to you? who go blather from