All Ye False Prophets of the Apocalypse

O egg-eaters,

bird-boarders

calling them home to roost.

You’re all

hens-teeth counters

of the worst kind — empty shells

and not a real fox

among you.

Talk is cheap — cheep-cheep

— and the yoke’s on you.

What’s that smell?

Fear.      Fear and

chicken shit.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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