September Poem 15

Robert inhaled from the seats,

A larger bed of one, a bottled expanse of blue,

And exhaled large rings of amber.

 

He was lost in the fumes through the vent hole.

The fictional nostrils

Smashed against one wall and died.

 

Human armpits imbedded into

Sunlight streaked diesel, and sleep,

Death’s interior, was perfumed with my feet

And a bittersweet mix of husky dwarf.

 

I know from sweat that tough

Where the oils from the long expanse

Dangled from the stained blacktop.

He would not regain the armrests,

Nor his sense of smell for a month.

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