We are things of dry hours and the involuntary plan,
Grayed in, and gray. “Dream” makes a giddy sound, not strong
Like “rent,” “feeding a wife,” “satisfying a man.”
But could a dream send up through onion fumes
Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes
And yesterday's garbage ripening in the hall,
Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms,
The dream not being practical or even realistic, it’s uncertain whether it could cut through the “onion fumes.” Cooking onions produces smells and smokes which are at once sharp and rather mundane.
Kitchenette building