Is there a spam factory in the woods?

That was a comment from a co-worker after hearing my poem read aloud tonite. During the 5-6 PM dinner break hour I wrote 4 poems on paper towels...non stop, no proof reading. Later when I looked at them, I discovered they were somewhat interesting but had no focus. I wasn't in a good space, but on a writing spree, having had a bad experience with my last customer before break. After I'd mellowed out a bit by talking to co-workers, this lighter more coherent poem took shape...

As the spam lives and flies

Unicorn the woods
The flies are sparrowing again
Out the tolerance ghettos
To the place where spam lives
Let loose the onion rings and doves of prey
Where the fruit flies trees and the lambs cotton
During the wet season when the wool runs dry
And the sap runs cold when the tulips sing
And dance around the spam ring
Touching icicles as they frost
When the wool runs cold and the spam ring sings
Unicorning sparrows in the tolerance ghettos
Where the fruit flies sing and the chocolate walks
Talking of the first moment
The sap ran dry
In the land of milk and honey
Toasting their dovelish sparrowing ways
In the tolerance ghettos
As the spam lives and flies.

Denis Streeter 2/25/11