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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.

hello! i'm a 19 yo queer xicanx poet who also doubles as an undergrad student with anxiety problems. i promise i'm the realest clown you'll ever meet. catch me yelling about how much work i have to do for my women's and gender studies & english and comparative literature majors, and for my latina/o studies minor (jk, i love it all). i hope you enjoy my work!
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