WHERE WILL YOU GO, YOU CLEVER LITTLE WORM, filled with so much goodness flaccid in my grip, gushing all that nacho cheese? In my mouth a graveyard appears, lines of stones slam into your grilled broadside. You loved living your lie of billboard immortality, hunger had its own scheme, crushed like a bug you still die. Soon, now, you will join the ranks of those crunchwraps, chalupas, and quesadillas or I will get too full, or change my mind and throw you away because you are only beef and beans, and with your lettuce dried also your sour cream. Quickly/quietly say, “It’s for the best,” it is best for you so preen under my tongue with your packets of mild and fire. Okay, talk is over, words are placid and weak. I’ll back it with action, now watch close as you shrink.