A list of smells

It smells like the hallway after the wet dogs have come through.
It smells like the skylight on a hot day.
It smells like she forgot what she was going to say.
It smells like the sparrows twisting their weight around the tiny blooms on the tree.
It smells like time passing.
It smells like the idea I had yesterday that I forgot when the subject of the gate distracted me.
It smells like Mark Booth.
It smells like the day I was thinking about Iceland.
It smells like the mourning dove that perched on my window for a day and now calls from down the street.
It smells like the UPS man with his bent pen.
It smells like rain in Chicago.
It smells like the truck full of metal driving the alleys just before a downpour.
It smells like my neighbor’s baby.

It smells like the sky is white and flat and far away.
It smells like the newspaper clipping I saved for you.
It smells like your birthday.
It smells like you are upset. That smell upsets me.
It smells like a mixture of everything I ever knew.
It smells like a perfume sample.
It smells like the wind coming across the lake.
It smells like five Indonesian megaliths.
It smells like someone died here. Maybe three months ago.
It smells like someone is mowing the grass down the block.
It smells like the college students are moving out for the summer.
It smells like narcissism times ten.
It smells like a mirror reflecting the sun.
It smells like the flowering trees in Chuck’s front yard in May.
It smells like the corner where you waited.
It smells like cold pizza the next morning.
It smells like the tightness in my hand.
It smells like the inside of my nose.

It smells like the phone ringing just as you place your hand on the door knob to leave.
It smells like the men that stand around outside talking about cars.
It smells like the men that stand around outside.
It smells like 8 and a quarter times 5 and a half.
It smells like the place where the workers stand outside to smoke.
It smells like the planter where they smudge out their stumps.
It smells like the sparrows never take a break.
It smells like the cactus outgrowing its pot.
It smells like I cleaned this house yesterday and then had friends over.
It smells like it but I didn’t.
It smells like I made dinner and then ate it.


It smells like when the phone rang you didn’t answer it.
It smells like the velvet from an old curtain.
It smells like you listening to music.
It smells like you sleeping in a dark room.
It smells like you know me.
It smells like you have that taste in your mouth.
It smells like you want me.
It smells like I better go before it’s too late.

It smells like the planes flying over head.
It smells like the hand towel they give you just before they serve a meal.
It smells like my brother.
It smells like my brother is never around.
It smells like the library of water.
It smells frozen.
It smells like old card board.
It smells like new carpet.
It smells like a carpet that was supposed to be washed after five years but wasn’t and now it is almost seven.
It smells like a trip to the hardware store to buy fuses.
It smells like my favorite TV program.
It smells like I had all day to tell you something.
It smells like mist creeping in imperceptibly.
It smells like when you look out the window and you are in the middle of a cloud and then you burst out on the other side and you are looking down at the tops of the clouds.
It smells like this is not my car.
It smells like I didn’t know what to say.
It smells like I am waiting for inspiration.
It smells like I should create a space for dialogue.

It smells like the day today.
It smells like seashells from my honeymoon.
It smells like all we have is the near future and the recent past.
It smells like there is no space.
It smells like there’s a moment coming, it’s not here yet, it’s still in the future, here it is . . . ah . . . it’s gone man. There is no present.
It smells like George Carlin.
It smells like 1975.

It smells like it has a name. If it has a name I will remember it.
It smells like the first part of the show.
It smells like I can’t remember the last part of the dance.
It smells like the name of the dance.
It smells like the dance when I know it by heart.
It smells like I am the book of my part.