Little boys throw rocks laid out for them

From regurgitations grounds for digestion

Of crumbs small minded larks pick to

Make what comes in and out of their

Mouths more palatable,

Dung flung out in purity toned whiteness

Dripping majestically through the air

And decorating cars and

Pedestrians as they innocently walk by,

Their contents splattering

The reality of their expulsions all over,

Marking their territory with

Impotence.

Little pebbles to tick with,

Dickless with in the absence of

An real ax to grind,

Attacking viciously,

Mockingly,

Baiting in pretense

No friend.

Lies.

Hiding behind

A mask.

Licking boots.

Bent over in abhorred vestiges

Writing arse-nic

Like magpies squawking about

Cock Robin’s cock-a-doodle-poo,

Tiny peeps from tiny brains,

Too tiny for real conversation,

Just listen to the mocking bird, yeah!

Two hoots from an old owl,

Head spinning round and round

Foretelling death as Chicken Little

Shouts from the shadows

The sky is falling!

Give a hoot, don’t pollute!

Little boys with nothing better to do

Than destroy the nest

Holding life,

Can’t let it be,

Gotta tear it down

‘Cause they don’t know

How to build anything,

Just follow where the needle points,

Blindly, and behind every

Self-proclaimed genius is his ass

Full of asinine ideas,

True, IT does roll down hill,

And right into the empty shell

Where rolls around the

Poisoned plan of acts-shun,

If the rocks don’t do it,

Get a stick,

If the stick don’t do it,

Just load up the pellet gun

And get ‘er done.

But don’t forget Hitchcock.

The Birds do not forget.

In fact, they often return the favor

With a well placed pecking,

Hens pecking,

Pecking out your eyes,

If your I’s offend thee, then

Pluck them out,

Put them on a roll

With relish and ….

You pretend to know

But you know nothing

And what you throw

Is the equivalent

Of the dung you play in,

MALice

MALformed

AniMAL.