in loving memory of a lack of belief,
we are gathered here to celebrate greed.
stuff my mouth with money and
feed me to mister corporation.
he’s hungry, can’t you see?
or did they gouge your eyes out and
feed those spheres of testimony to the dogs?
those dogs, no, those pigs.
i’m posed on a silver platter
when we should have sent them
to the slaughterhouse a long time ago.
i’m dressed up, i’m feeling fancy.
mister corporation feels a different way, darling.
does it turn you on to inject me with humiliation?
where did the maid go?
what did you do with the body locked up in the casket?
my caramelized skin—dripping with olive oil—
is itching to have a taste
of what the red-eyed wolves have to offer.
i want a taste, mister corporation.
i want to taste the barrel of your pistol—
i want to taste gunpowder for three eternity.
i’m wearing those white shoes you like, sir.
i’m dressed up for your pleasure—taste my poison.