Girasol Nights!

I want that Gary Seven typewriter
Where all he had to do was speak...
And add a secretary, at her peak,
Equipped with a rainbow highlighter
So that my poems would look just as good
As a hippy chick with flower power
Preparing me a whiskey sour
In a new technicolor neighborhood...
Safe in Federation territory...
Where my undercroft office study hall
Has a tramway linked observatory
Spying on heaven's masquerade ball,
Or an Olympian allegory
Using Saturn's ring for a shopping mall.