Englicious (a poem)

The tree man sips his hot tureen
That teems with steaming log cuisine,
While I, in glucose, sing the blues
And twist in hot ionic glues.

Using E. Coli, I break loose.
I go in clues that go in sluice.
No use in logic, but I try--
Invoke the locus genii

The green snakes heed his oiling cues
And coiling, use the pulp he chews,
To fashion gnashing pollywogs
As cogs, in lieu of metal frogs.

And tempt from one tenacious soul
Some iced Seoul icing, in a bowl;
And with it, I glue coins on high
And stepping, to the lune go I--

So on they slither, all the while,
Enchanted by his sonic guile
While I dream dreams of oil, guns, ice,
And bread loaves that I go unslice.

Sci fi, my love,
Bye-bye.