I pick my nose
With all my fingers
And all my toes.

I sniff a rose:
The aroma lingers:
I pick my nose.

Calcium grows
My thingamajingers
And all my toes.

A horseshoe throws
A bunch of ringers:
I pick my nose.

The north wind blows
A flock of wingers
And all my toes.

A sewer sews
With several Singers:
I pick my nose
And all my toes.

i smell your scent,
like mangoes
i tasted them,
unripe & sour.
But I like it.

I open the door.
     The sweet fall air comes inside.
          The stink goes outside.

It's beautiful stuff,

this pale yellow braided rope --


I smell retsina.

Antique
paper
& ink
& glue,
a fragrance
I drink
in through
my nose,
fragrant
like a dead rose.
I fan my face,
& fall into
an antique book aroma coma.

. ****** toss block
(evergreen  with enzymes)
  irks the mucus membranes

Why do books smell so good?
I know, I know the chemical truth
But ever wonder if its because the planet approves?
what if mother earth agrees with the use
cut my child down but write wonderful prose
dream a million things and use the pages to be verbose
explain something carefully, like mother nature would
if she could speak, and now she does, through books

the scents of god l
smell and will follow them all
to my mind center

Staring at gravestones
Wondering what it is to
Exist, no longer.
Smell of sulfur,
Feel of bone;
Still as water.