The way the forest sounds sneak into the grocery store the shopping cart creaks like mountains I have seen mountain goats scale Campbellās soup cans as if they were butter (aisle 12) Through those aisles we move in murmurations enacting strange Pac-Man patterns of consumption, holding coupons up against the ghostly creep the spilt cherries that magically disappear, the floor unstained The way the vitamin stacks whisper hypnotically the freezers murmur anonymously while these persistent birds overhead click and chirp like cameras only ever keep one eye on you, the other eye sees through the security guard to the nightless blue sky of the neon sign I think I will root for truffles tonight I am no hero, I am skinny dipping in a sea of potato chips swaying like kelp past cookies and creosote cleaner peanut butter tubs you could bathe in When the elephants come back to Canada we will hear their thunderous stomp on the roofs of stores like these stuff our shirts with water bottles strap Quebecois cheeses to our thin chests praise the lake waters come rushing in Their trunks will come crashing through grasping their ablation collecting us or the shopping carts or the salmonella that have miraculously returned to these waters The mountain goats, though, stay prophetically dry climb or rather float up those coarse highways tablets returning to the mount over drifting ice cream, soy milk bars, and burning High Times This is how we will all die, knowing that only our vitamin dreams will survive
Clean Up
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