Feed (NaPoWriMo 2006)

April 11, 2006

Feed

The graygreen slick the tunnel runoff hocked
like housepaint glopped on crabgrass sucked down boots,
bicycles, trees. My plastered ankles locked
in lunchmeat squish, I grabbed at handle roots
while cussing out my need for such pursuits.
A day's reconnaissance at Squalid Creek
turned up the muck spat from the gothic chutes,
that olive drab, synthetic as its reek,
and fed it sock and shoe, the food its spirits seek.

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Ugh. I forced almost every aspect of this Spenserian stanza.