In the dream I was driving a garbage truck. In the dream I wasn't lowly,
I was manning a fuel-injected mastodon, I was rumbling
down the street and the rumbling rattled my bones and what
little is left of my human brain—my god, did that feel fine—
there was nothing bigger than I and my towering aspiration
to collect a tiny paycheck by gathering up the grimy
heaps, the sad, neglected scraps, the recyclable and the lost,
forever lost, remnants of everyone else's dreams.