Full
The world, of course,
is a feast to be eaten.
Everywhere we are,
is a wild garden
of dripping fruit, ripe
on the vine, easily
plucked and sucked
upon, sweet and sticky,
something you smell
as you walk along
with your devices,
your infinite menus,
with which you call
up the next course,
and the next, delivered
to your door, an
on-demand avalanche
of blinding delights,
designed for every
palate, every region
of the tongue. So much
to consume, one
hardly ever moves.
And isn't it easy
to become the meat,
the fatty treat that the
world around us eats?
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