My Ruby Sandals

I’d soon disappear were mine Dor’thy shoes, Fitted glass-sandals in apricot hue, When clicked together ask wearers to choose, Any fantasized place where dreams come true; Outer-space, maybe, might orbit me right, Closer to heaven and farther from here, And death-grips wouldn’t need strangle so tight, Since each dimension should have a neck-spare; Or destinations, perhaps less stupid, Where bunnies lay eggs while fat-men drink milk, And arrows find fannies noticed by Cupid, Whose boxers are made from Italian silk. Nope, there’s no trouble afoot in my dome – I’m simply sayin’ there’s no place like home. - Just a fruitful vent (no judging) :)