To steam bath the innards
Or to blanch the mind
Do you preserve the color
And freeze for the time
To be thawed and prepared
Rather than canned of the kind
What life does fully cooked through now bring
The death of the hollow the stomach does sing
A practical joke pulled on the mind
For tomorrow find the same is still there
The stomach is still empty
And the minds in despair
To relive the ancient need
To eat and produce waste
From an every day deed