shrimp flavor poem going out to a list of folks

this poem goes out to all the people who make this world work
without whom the world would not work
like the people who refill the pop machine and the people who create the coins
and the people who make loave of every kind of bread
and to all the professional dancers who light up the stage
and the people who built the stage with wood and metal
and the person who throws a peanut shell onto the stage
for no reason

here goes:

lights on in the country house
where a wise little cookie crumb named Wassen
crinkles up his face like a
live squid
the candle shivers when the ghost blows
the creaky mattress is made out of toothpicks and grease
and hot florettes

squid ink pooling at the bottom of the hill
where a squid layeth
valuable steam rising off the bayou
hickory chips flip
and scuttle in the shrimp flavor

imitation isolated hercules fruit puff
devoured by the little wax pelican
noise emanates
from the pencil shavings
of dr. j