Tuesday, 12 October 2010
Cardiac Karma Cola
Aura of the damned,
Endorse and brand.
Food Arcades exfoliate,
The warmth of sharks:
Sup our dark arts.
We are the trench-troughers;
Silken purse sows devour-emoting.
We have assumed Full Spectrum Dominance,
Over our Consumer Ground Nero.
We dribble Manchurian Yoke Freedom.
I pray for lobsters clasping Uzis,
Their claws on the hair-pins,
Nozzles pointing out from our boiling pans,
And into their hellfire.
Italian, Indian, French, Spanish:
They're of course still missing all this,
But have no fear fluffy muffin,
For they must catch on:
The Credit Crunch Work In Terror ethic,
Will soon enough scold, then vaporise
their ethnic kitchen-culture manana-charm;
Slow-cook growth hormone:
Cardiac Karma Cola.
This is the church,
This is the steeple,
Let us pray for wholly bovine people.
And if all the cows die,
We can binge on burgers made from our dead selves:
A greener alternative to burial:
Eat us, purge, then flush,
And if you're in the mood for romance, fat-fuck.
In the abattoir,
Slice and dice us open,
We will ooze and seep,
Alien autopsies to go,
Scare the hell out of those almond eyed Greys,
All the way back to Alienspacystan.
Donut muff-dive again,
Alfalfa barbecue with intent,
Pretend you're foreign,
But only for a bit,
Their food, climate, warmth and lifestyle
may be wonderful,
But those people?
Shame, isn't it?