i sneak in a smell—
a smell of myself.
do a line off my finger,
a line of skin
twist my neck like a garlic knot
to sop up the sweat of my
shaved pits. who am i kidding?
they are unshaved. unshaved,
and unshowered. i smell
myself to see
if i’m still there.
to sense of self
to self-evidence
my body is my self, in a sense.
the good, the bad, and the fragrant.
the aromatic, autonomic nervous system.
i go with my gut
where my gut wants to go
for i’ve got a pungent hunch
about the great body autonomy caper
so sure, i’ll take a whiff
whether or not it passes the smell test
i’ll waft and wax and wane:
like the moon, i’m made of cheese.
my body throws me off the scent
but it’s the scene of the crime
so reflexively, i return to it
howling at the fucking moon
i go missing once a month.
i’ve stopped looking for my face
but when i find it i go crazy
Poet Douglas Kearney and composer/producer/drummer Val Jeanty link up for a a compelling LP that feels like the written word come to life. Bandcamp New & Notable Mar 30, 2021