Vomit Through The Looking Glass

Modern day, low vibe dysfunctionality Teeth chattering boom boxes Broken bottle messages, afloat in the sewer Dehydrated, mutated song lyrics That can't fly anywhere, and there's no music- So what's the point of it all? Fill to the beaker line with some profane gibberish, Swish it around a few times and- Voila! Another reeking creation is born Trying to prove who's the more burned out The more jaded, past caring, past hope It might be a surprise, but everyone feels down sometimes. It's much too late to patent that, I'm afraid I say, these poems should relocate to some other solar system Some meteor bombarded, crater pocked Parking lot, full of smoking wrecks, In some craggy ex-galaxy, at the rats-assed edge of time: The one still peopled with dinosaurs; Where mammals just didn't make the cut- They will surely be appreciated there By the ruling reptilian-brained elite, at home amid the chaos. Vomit in a beaker: I just don't get it. If I happened to step in it by accident I would have to expunge it from my soul.