On the islands of the dead

Mist surrounds the leafy greens

Risen by the Wonderbread,

Near the valley of Peek Freens;

In the aisles of Tupperware,

Whose dazzling seas include

Amour in the Frigidaire

And Good Humor in the frozen food,

There rapacious grocery carts,

Hoarding god knows what,

Are foul with chicken body parts

And packages from Pizza Hut,

Their underbelly debonair,

Sparkling with dyspeptic gas,

Throwing off a certain air

Of being earth's prevailing mass,

A moaning ocean in a heaving land, 

A debt the reeling world is owed

By undulating rhythms scanned

With an unforgiving code:

The sunshine's Dial, the Cascade's Tide,

The accidental grace

Of the universe's shining pride

In our prefabricated space

Whose chaotic sun demands

We shade our shy, warm-blooded eyes

From the cold, inhuman stands

That wild oats homogenize.



December 18th, 2005