Supermarket checkers

I watch you paltry peons
Scanning your prison bars
In the dogged slavery of eons
You peons gaze at the stars

Summer taste

There's nothing like
A perfectly ripe
Tomato sandwich.

Scraping the barrel

It is impossible to write
A poem for me tonight
It is impossibly to write
And not sound inanely trite.

Sleepwriter

The hours are all ticking
And my contacts are unsticking
From my eyeballs. Let me go!
I'm half asleep already
And my feet aren't quite so steady
But these words just have to go.
From me they're overflowing
And I have no way of knowing
If they'll ever let me go.

Cincy OH

Can you sin, sin,
Can you Natty?
Can you Sin, Sin.
In Sin Cincinatti.

I like to go outside.
I always have.
I like to feel the air move
I like it to live.
I like to feel things between my toes,
Mud,
Grass,
Sand.
I like to feel the cool
Green gold glow
Of growing things
In the sunshine.
I like to taste sweet, fresh wild fruits,
Flavorful, meaty, tender new leaves,
And starchy-squeaky shoots.
I like to smell damp earth,
Fresh cut grass,
The delicate scents of flowers
So small you scarcely see them.
I like to hear the silence so profound,
That the whisper of the trees
Is the roar of lions in the breach.
I like to go outside.

Nightmare

I had the strangest dream last night,
It put me in a terrible fright.
'Bout a woman who worked in a packaging plant,
A lettuce grower was their largest client.
Cheerleaders helped the workers along
With a shout and a dance and a cheerful song
Bugs infested this woman's skin
Crawling through her, o'er her, around her, in.
Turning it shiny, broken and black,
Burnt bread crust, shimmering tarmac.
To show how much she drowned in despair
My dream-machine replaced her hair
With pepperoni and cheese pizza
Dotted with a glistening red spicy meatsauce.
Surrounded by her greasy halo
She tried to speak despite a mouthful
Of frigid, choking, peppermint tic-tacs
Until her rotting, scabbed face went lax
And as the evil 'sects jumped ship
Beneath the cheese her death mask slipped.