Today is 2053, I'm hungry, sterile, minimalistic
I want a juicy piece of meat
With blood and tendons, chewy strings,
Not seasoned, seared nor marinated.
The art above me is a print, a digitally baste impression
I once was as diverse as you, my eyes were horizontal, my skin was atmospheric thick, my language, universal.
But nowadays to get a piece of meat, I have to vote with tokens, non-fungible and making peace, with international agri-counterculture.
Oh well, I'll print my thighs and calves again, my plant-based protein is vested, hibachi dreams are free today, I'll fry them and get tested.
