“The World Smells of Boogers” – Poetry by B. Diehl

Goldau - William Turner, 1841
Goldau – William Turner, 1841

Oddball humor & profound pathos collide in B. Diehl ‘s poem “The World Smells of Boogers,” one of many flappy lits featured in our Fall 2015 issue.

{ X }

like a pus-filled boil.

And you ate your way to the core
of the apple of my eye
only to find a fat, ugly worm.

With cobwebbed lungs, I lifted my soul
from beneath the lilac bush,
wiped the crust from my yellowing eyes,

and we watched the sky swelling
like a pus-filled boil.

You swallowed me whole ­­––
spat out the flaws
like watermelon seeds,

but I see them now, starting to sprout
within the footprints of Christ ––

as the sky swells on
like a pus-filled boil.

Because it’s springtime again ­­––

so water my pain
and I’ll watch it bloom into a rose.

Play my spinal chord all day like an E minor ­­––

as the sky swells on
like a pus-filled boil.

You are a glacier in the middle of Egypt.
You are a genuine smile at a funeral,
the ticking of a rusty-handed clock,
the wrinkle on my cheek,
the hoarse voice, waking me
in the middle of a daydream:

“If you ever find happiness,
cut off its legs.”

But as the sky swells on
like a pus-filled boil,

my purpose is beckoning.
My purpose is a lighthouse
outside the storm,
gleaming brighter
with every last second.

So I’m heading west,
against the wind,
shunning the sky,

while tearing off the Band-Aid
at lightning-speed.

{ X }

Screen Shot 2015-08-29 at 12.20.51 PMB. DIEHL is a poet, quasi-recluse, and cat enthusiast from Phillipsburg, NJ. His poetry has been featured in Lehigh Valley Vanguard, Poydras Review, Torrid Literature Journal, Cartagena Journal, Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, Synchronized Chaos, and more. When he is not writing, you can usually find him at home, hanging out with his cats and/or feeding his social media addiction.

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