this one
feather-struck and cock-eyed
and tongue hard-wired to drunken yell
yodel yay eeeeee!
he says
do you love it?
my self-portrait
it's the psychedelic '70s
so you see
i am the dawn, ladies
from wishbone
to tail feather
i am the dawn
hear me roar
he tapes himself
on coop walls
(moted and savage with sawdust)
and does little tap dances
hoppity hop
a blithering fool
whose spurs are these? he asks,
rounding up his toes for counting,
feet pale as mustard
one two, wait
one two three, no
is that one?
and yet... and yet
he loves himself still
it's painted bright
on comb and double chin
hell has feathers
for crying out loud
Out of the Cave 
This is simply fabulous, and I think Pablo would’ve thought so, too.
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Thanks, Misky. 😊 i hope Pablo wouldn’t mind it.
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I doubt he minds; he’s been dead for 50-years.
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This is so good! It’s so utterly believable if you spend time with roosters, and those two lines are perfect.
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Thanks Kate. It was about the painting but I was also thinking of Australian politics. 😆 I think it gave me extra unseen material.
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They do so love themselves. Wonderful poem.
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thanks, Hobbo! 🙂
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👍
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