The Subjective Lightness Of Being: April 2007

Friday, April 13, 2007

That Bastard Chicken Scratch

I've done told a slew of stories
I've then ended many a' lives
The call me Bastard Chicken Scratch:
"The Swallower of Knives"

My pock marked split tongue likes the shine
Never lets me down, always hits the spot
Fills up the chalice, a darker brew of wine
Quenches on the road travelling days, so hot

Tents and trucks and nameless shameless fucks
My sun soaked beak pecks dents into flesh
I turn the page and recite in snapping clucks
The cuts on my tongue still succulent fresh

Tonight comes another stage side show
Feathered mane slicked back up top
The crowd will come and continue to grow
Endless sea of listeners to add to the crop

-AP 04-13-07