Fill Me With Juice

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.

The End

5 comments about this poem Feed