I don’t eat but I pride myself on knowing flavors.
I don’t know martial arts, but I have a mean chop.
I don’t condone violence, but I can grind my opponents down.
Just throw everything in and set me to work,
Nothing will remain in One piece—I’ll grate them to bits—
in One form I’ll liquefy them before my blades—
of Themselves, I’ll force integration, mixing, fusion—
Until that clunky ice, crushed butter, and morning drink is worthy to your taste.