flite of talcuum and crappy living( rated pg )

i wish i had boots
man, i like boots
boots of tripsy with winglet parts adjacent to the little whirly
giggled foot stomper parts, pretty duckie
yeah, that would turn on, no less, and fill
the air with glimmering mica when the batteries
failed in the fire detector, jesus that screams!
anyway, then, then, a large cloud of entrancement
could bust outta the trees, okay, this is great! and shower
party guests with drugged fruit. red. of course.
heady pomegranate blood to divide the forces
juiced squit sugar lovers palm to palm. mystic.
ha ha! and make em think it was all just swell here
and they never wanted to open their little envelopes
with the little windows of recyclable materials
and the cookie cutter occupant can kick that shit
into the corner of the "living" room which
piles up like great wads of unopened detritus
floating on the sea of broken backed mail carriers.
the world's rules pretty much suck. and i'm so part
of the rules i want to choke in my own puke...
you wanna get yourself written up so you can vote
and who the hell lives here and what does your
goddamned retina look like?
________________________________________

this rant is in honour of all the nice paranoid sci fi writers
who have influenced my sense of moral indignation
over the years. tra la la. i feel so much *laughs* better now...
despite the mounting pile of uninvited noise on every flat surface
of my abode.