<h4>“What comes first...?”</h4>
Oh, it is the chicken that comes first,
Before the egging (the laying on of worst
Impressions ill-rehearsed
And quickly versed
But highly stressed)—
When bowels burst,
It cackles, cackles, having forced
A motherload of wit—
Through clenching muscles,
Sprayed corpuscles
Of shit-
Heads will roll
Rather droll
Down textured shells
Once white,
Now sluiced
By ne'er-do-wells'
“Holy writ.”
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Oh, it is the egg—those golden eggs!—
That makes a chicken
Hawk the wares between its legs
Unawares: moonstricken
By the lump
Under its rump,
It crows around the clock—
Even though the hen-house begs
For peace, it crows around the clock—
Of stretching sphincters
And golden ventures—
But doesn't know that it's a cock.
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[This message has been edited by Curtis Gale Weeks (edited January 20, 2002).]
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