Joules In My Corona

I am in the throws of a murder burger
       finger-sucking-good bovine ecstasy.

There is a campfire burning;
       the wood smells like church.

There was a time when mankind lived
       with the earth instead of on it;

But now is not the time for nature
       nostalgia. I am pristine water from

Artesian wells born of heaven and filtered
       through ancient rock. I am trapped

In plastic for your consumption — bring me
       to your lips. Consummate our pact with

Petroleum products. The poorest of the poor
       sleep on warm pavement. Recreation for

The richer involves choosing to sleep on dirt in,
       on top, and under the most advanced

Synthetic fibers that money can create. Put
       on a rubber and procreate. Intercourse

Smells like church. There is a campfire burning
       and I am just getting warm.