Big restaurant chains boasting the 'best chicken in town', secret recipes from the colonel, a veritable smorgasbord of 101 flavours to drown those tiny wings in and of course, the infamous 'chicken dance'; the highly coveted drunken rite of passage pantomimed at most weddings.
It seems that most other birds just aren't as tasty, friendly or fun as chickens.
To have a 'crow dance', would be a disastrous affair.
An ominous and menacing masquerade to steal the soul
choreographed in a heavy fog entangling all within it's thick fingers
a puppetry of people possessed by dark clouds
penetrating stares that send lightning daggers
goading the recipient with belligerent confidence
sights set on prey; attack;
not claws that gouge open wounds in the face
but stealthy maneuvers of belladonna punch
as they fall one by one
sharpened talons pilfer the prize
the succulent marble of the soul.
~I surrender to The Writing Womb~
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