Chris Dorian

3am 

I never thought I’d miss the smell

The smell of spongy roof shingles stained with lichens and the exhaust of ambulances cutting through the block to drop bodies in hope their ascension can be delayed

The smell of stale beer and musty basement hastily mopped with last weeks water bucket

Water stained by the soil from outside and tears from within

The smell of tobacco smoke lingering in the air

Weaved in the thread of my clothes

Embedded in my fingertips

Particles stuck in my throat and sinuses

Copper rising from my lungs 

The smell of sweaty walls

Sweaty halls

Sweaty balls

Left over miasma of physical union in an unlocked bedroom

Or moldy bathroom

The smell of a stranger’s alleyway vomit in the treads of my boots

Pizza or ziti?

Or someone’s deodorant smeared on my shirt and the failure of its effectiveness

The smell of jungle juice and regret coming from the stains on my jeans

Reminding me that open 9oz cups mixed with crowds and music and limited square footage are about stable as a pile of rocks on the San Andreas fault

The smell of cucumber melon or sweet pea body lotion which has been transferred to my skin by some siren who will vanish from my night as quickly as she materialized into it 

The smell of a pissed on dumpster

It’s rotting contents

Or the burnt spoon next to it

The smell of crushed pills that never made it into a mucosal membrane or the ashes they were pulverized next to

The smell of morning dew creeping onto the asphalt reminding me morning can bring many things ranging from a cleansing rebirth to shame

The smell reminding me like those nights,  the party is mostly over

The only ones left crusty eyed and awake are people looking for a piece

Whether it be piece of ass

Piece of the pie

Or peace of mind 

The smell of those that have burnt out and worn their souls so thin they will vaporize into nothingness and into a seemingly eternal sleep upon collapse

Metaphorically or literally

The smell of the real soldiers that march on through the mess of the past and eventually will see the daylight

Even if it’s brought by the end of a tunnel

The smell. The smell that strangely signals a world of opportunity in front of you

Triggering vitality

Energy

Reminding you possibilities exist and that the carrot dangling in front of you was poorly constructed and you can reach out and bite that fucker if you try hard enough

I never thought I’d miss the smell

The smell of New Brunswick 3am

The smell of youth