Vomit Through The Looking Glass Poem by Patti Masterman

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.