Jokes.
Chickens swallow stones–trap ‘em in their gizzard
Rub those grains and greens,
(contracting)
bugs
Pebbles for muscles
Found right there in lots and backs.
It was better to extinguish–
sort of.
No more wanting, the grieving moved its heavy sacks
out to the car
That gizzard.
Wakin’ up in fevered sweats
it begs
Round circles tap taping
smooth and bold
crack crack cracking
Heads.
…
Lets talk about the smell of apples–heartaches for chicky babies in the roost.
No more that want want wanting.
Left us out
Dried and sad.
A slickered sour puss in boots.
October 23, 2009 | No Comments
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