COMMON SCENTS

we are not rogue philosophers. we are tragic heroes,
searching in vain; we are looking for our own noses.

unable to see beyond ourselves, we soil our handkerchiefs
trying desperately to rid ourselves of these soggy doubts.

even when we hold our noses high in the air, we cannot see.
we see ourselves, our noses and knows, only in glimpses.

only when we cross our sight can we see how we sense
where our scents are born, where smell is elucidated.

they lied when they said your eyes would get stuck that way.
they are all double-crossers. but nobody is cross-eyed.

our words mean nothing to them
and we have no more meaning
to give ourselves.

we cross our eyes and close our hearts.
there is something foul in the air.

©Copyright 2003 Sheila Cook.