Fill me with the juice of your
Last hellish ordeal at work or
With your fleabag boyfriend who
I pretend to like.
The fresher the better,
For I do not have to concentrate
On your pig squeals of delight
When you tell me that
The new position is better.
My feet feel suppressed by their glove
And the orangy taste of that cake
Fills me to the brim with morality.
In the beginning there was the word
And the word was juice.
The fleshy content of your days
Pour out from the carton.
Spoil yourself with the sensation
That all the words we speak
Mean nothing and are nothing.