peacock hem
on a baseball pear
a lettuce cries a ladle

What is this great fruit?
All of life's bounty, in this one root.

The apple of the earth;
From the dirt it doth birth.

Bake, roast, mash,
All else goes to the trash.

The potato's taste is so fine,
Its versatility? Just divine.

*****, fries, tossed in pies,
Potatoes are the best, no compromise.

The rose has thorns because
it cares not to be touched.
Its color is a warning
for animals to stay away.
Its scent is a scream and
not a delight for us to own.
It exists in ****** stillness
bending only for the sun.
The scientist knows this
having heard its sub audible
howl with delicate machines
that probe its roots.
The poet plucks the bloom
unaware of the pain that
created that beauty,
the aroma that shouts
its death to its vegetable kind.

shuttle loft carrot
penny dent
throttle kettle dive

parachute clown scout
onion dive
mustard Nebraska whey

They’ve taken my arms,
Taken my legs,
Taken my eyes,
Taken my head,
Taken my mind.
Now I am just a vegetable.
An armless,
Legless,
Eyeless,
Headless,
Mindless freak!
Left to rot and decay,
While I can still feel it all slipping away.

If I am
ever left
to rely
on a
diet of medication
and
tv static commercials,
unplug me
and
donate me,
being a
crash test cadaver
is at least
useful.

Mothers garden adorned with fleshy fruit
Thus I plucked and ****** at the jocund juice
Branches speckled with luscious loot
A taste so sweet, I propose a tantalizing truce
Immortalize me with nourishing nectar
Keep my belly from famished fallicies
No longer a fleshy comestible collector
For godly ambrosia has mended moralities