oh four oh one

Lets get started with a poem.




tippy toes

Im a vulture wearing english clothes
a night hawk on my tippy toes.
I might be a night time gambler,
killin' when no body knows. I watch
the little chickies peckin' they never
look around- no, no. I scoop to claw
the puffed out breasts, I grab them with
my tippy toes. The big ole rooster dont
see me commin' he never looks around
no no, the mamas cant run fast save them
when I squish em right between my toes.
Now I love to hear the chickies sqwakin, like
to stare em' right between the eyes then I
like to take my big beak pointed and I poke it
in so deep I cry. when the chickie pops fast
I swallow cause I like to keep my feathers
dry. Now I drread to be lookin' backwards
when the knife comes piercin' through the
sky, and I dread to be lookin' backwards
when the poison drips right at my eye, and
I dread to be looking backwards when a
bullet wants to say my grace, and I dread to be
looking backwards when my death is
coming at my face. Now I might be a night
time gambler, walkin' on my tippy toes. I might be a
night hawk vulture takin' right before I go. But I
wont be a road kill loser, lyin' flat between the lines,
if I dont see the plate glass window I hope the
lights dont make me blind. I cant dance away prancin'
-happy on my tippy toes.



cg 2008