Counting Chickens


Which came first?
the small and fragile
shell of an idea,
or the bright sun
broken open way
it slayed
the sky? The eye
of the storm
or its slightly off
-kilter center?

We’re more
than crows
in curious rows,
plotting murder;
refusing to live
inside these
-ren boxes.

Here’s the truth:
we have all flown
the coop.

let’s say the fox
has been out


Doubling back to day one over at NaPoWriMo. Come play! 




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1 Response to Counting Chickens

  1. Charley says:

    And nobody flies like us chickens. Not sure whether humor is intended, or pathos. So I went with both. Anytime that happens I think it’s a good poem. Good work!

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