Day 14

Chicken

(Kind of Ted Hughes-ish)

Chicken scratches the earth

Chicken
Makes marks in the earth

Chicken plumps
Up his whiteness
And fluffs his feathers 

Chicken is thus
All hot air
Chicken is pillow fodder

Chicken is
Battle kieved, battered,
Spatchcocked, nuggeted

When Chicken is God
He goes off half-cocked- 
He announces the Sun 
in the morning 

See my works, yes - 
Me a doodle doo

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Day 27 ..2

 The kadapul flower of happiness Is the dearest flower in the world Flowering only yearly  and then only, unobserved At midnight in a great desert But how worthwhile, How wonderful, this effort To see the moon (if there to be seen ) Then wither, silver, fade And cannot be bought
Read more

NaPowrimo Day 6

  A broken clock speaks   You assume that I want to measure time, or treasure time. I was just crafted that way; faced and handed in a poor approximation of the human- when I stopped, it was a calm. These cogs no longer nipping with young teeth, the tiny ruby captive in the workings.   Listen to me, I am half the making of a bomb, the most important part, the rationale of time, the tick tick ticking. I am happy quiet, like this, am happy stilled in the hanging air of endless afternoons, I dream in dust.   I find I do not care for the consolation of being right once, twice- the old bores’ answer. There’s no revelation; just a flag waved in the circumnavigation of nothing. And if you look at my face, morning or evening, I give nothing away.  
Read more

Day 29

 The wrong order Or menu choices regretted It was grey meat mince wrapped in cabbage skin, jade green and uberboiled. It was like softpockets of organs stuffed back in the body ; there was a cream sauce peppergherkined strangely glow yellow grout white there was a bed of blood tomato jammy smeared There was a crown of bones with a little gristle blowtorched on which necessitated tilting the head owlike to bite into and one strip of tough flesh that needed the eater to rip hard with their canines and simultaneously rend in two with bare hands There was a shiny soup of shoe polish brown and in the ichor a white thing There was a pie as hot as mouthful of hell.  There was the dulleye and dark silver of the unknown two day fish Not at all the same, but as painful in the moment and the memory- I ordered grapefruit sorbet when I might have had a lovely mountain of profiteroles
Read more