sprigs and wigs go hand in hand
in this land of pedicured fantasies –
chocolate dreams waft out of bloody maries
(a proletariat comeuppance of the burgeoning
no one tastes the animal blood, no one the earth’s bounty,
hungry and drunkards are of one kind,
rainbows spiral out of control,
and kill millennials (aka aliens)
in their soft-cornered
age reverses into itself,
time sticks to a legal quagmire –
murders’ divorce nullified, spoken of like Neverland
this is the land of the forlorn and the free,
take a swig
and get going.
A relatively shortened piece for the Spec Fic poetry prompt at With Real Toads. As fictions are most often modeled after reality, so is this verse.