BURRITO MASTER

I am the Burrito Master.
My power fork
with spork yoke
and broke-back grease
I will never cease
to bring you
the ground meat
from the seat
of the sweet treat
alabaster. 

I make these
slime tubes
for less than $2.99
and it's fine
because my girl
my woman spirit
grabbed the onion god
and her BOD
was HOT STYLE
picante type
ever after.

The flesh burden
it's hurtin'
and your own cost
to the boss
and the mayor
is too much
so the factory churns
and burns
with old Aunt Mabel
from the stable
to the abattoir
a craftier cheese. 

I can't stop wanting
that frothy wheel
after the meal
my teeth yellow and raw
stuck in my craw
the bone mantle
the grizzle
the muscle gird
and then the SOUP
from the poop pipe
one swipe
and it leaves
with ease.

I make burritos at midnight from the discards of Texas toast nightmares.

My WOMAN demands HOT POWER LIVER OINTMENT type burritos, for prices that make sense. I use the old meats, left at the CHEVRON in plastic cases and old dirty Jesuits.