Olfactory Memory

Olfactory Memory

by C. T. Arbor

Key metal carries a deceitfully sickening scent That fills my lungs to burst. I can’t resist another Deep drag even if the migraine pains urge me To stop seeking its cold, hard sweetness.

Diesel oranges and skunky ape breath, It's sticky sugar cakes to the fingertip. Every Bud packs a different punch, but rots with ignition; The stinking ghost flies high. I am dank smoked jerky.

A battalion of brown ants raid an open bag of Over-seasoned Cajun cashews on a dusty glass desk. Flattened under my thumb, they burst with nauseating Pheromones, sour and loud like fresh paint thinner.

Alcohol lingers behind a modern plague. Nose hairs curl up to block my nostrils from chemical spice. 62% purity, 99.9% effective. When every hand and surface is Drenched, there’s nothing left to kill but my head.

Trudging through stacks of Mom’s outdated gossip Mags and tearing garbage bags on carpet washed with cat piss. Crusted dishes bathe in murky sink water as her greasy counter Covered in pungent food scraps give feast to fuzzy blue mold.

I discover the smell of wet death 45 meters away from the Blood stained grass in which he lay. The carcass of an old spoiled soul Decays in a park under the spring sun which peeks from behind dark Storm clouds. Vermillion spider webbing burst from his sliced hairy belly I close in, intoxicated by the stench of intestines in fresh bloom.