A starving bard one day went strolling. He was walking off the hurt of a hep-cat’s screech. Contemplating the moaning of a song just heard, knowing it wouldn’t be written down anywhere legible. The night before some lout had bragged of having read ‘the world’s longest poem.’ The brief synopsis he gave was satisfactory, in the truest sense, and to go one further, more than a little gratifying. The only thing left would be to eat a little chicken. Preferably not farm-fed. You catch a chicken in the wild, you can be sure it’s going to taste superior; though good luck with pinning it down.

So the lout was something like a frog really, who when you just took the time to kiss it a little, started spurting out streams of millennia-old wisdom, quite implausibly. Lesson learned, but it won’t be the last. More than one art this noble rapscallion was ensconced in, seemingly. A well concocted man is worth more than the sum of his ports. So said he, and well the bard he went wailing and so on…

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Fly for me a little kite
And I will fill you full of shite
Bolster and brace you little one
A trembling hand laid on the gun

Mercy, please, you cry and rant
Feel free with me, go on and vent
A scaredy cat is a pound unspent
Circus-size, come circumvent

The billowed clouds of undesire
Hitch your hooks up to this here wire
The latch is creaking, thumb unstuck
In this wee game we make our luck

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