Poem Written On a Bus #1

Hurtling forward in a metal tube of children meat
Do they know they will miss these green trees?
Do they know this lush green corridor
Is enough to make the bowels of grown accountants weep tears and numbers and ink.

The smells will always draw you back
The sweet rot of the park by the stream by I-81 when you'd run at dawn.

What is the power,
What is the strength
What is the growth and loss
Of time spent in transit?

I say it is the waking sleep.

But green ideas sleep furiously in the back of this nauseating jostling rumbling yellow steel cab.
They cannot know they will miss any of this.
And I cannot try to miss it as stretches itself wide and wraps itself across my face and breathes in my nostrils.

Facesucking nature laying its eggs in all of us
Set to burst from the chest years later
In sloppy slurpy lines like these.
Regurgitate
and enjoy.