The Nose Have It

Scent rejects tenses and their grammars --
time transcends the tendency of melody
to decay in the ear, for the other dual
canals are tunnels to never gone away;

Pauses are implausibly correct, 
stooping after stopping to smell
roses and toeses and the essence 
of poses, their posers, the nooks
and crooks where musks hide.

Volatile organisms get sucked in
by desire, lead by the nose
deeper down the danker,
drip-dour dreamwells,
dwelling in the dullest note.