One Fine Day At The Truck Stop

If The Mantis Stopped By The Side Of The Road And Prayed For Its Supper,
A Chicken Would Eventually Show Up To Cross The Street,
Carrying SunShine And Secretive Egg Mysticism,
Scratching The Pavement For Rooster-Shaman Visionarys,
That One Future Might Be Caressed WithIn The Nest Of A Hen's Hour,
Clucking AWay The Fear Of Modern-Day Machinery,
To Make ItSelf An Example BeFore This Insectile World Of AntHills And Refugee Tarantulas,
Its Comb Shuddering With Each Passing Rush Of Monoxide And Black Balloon'd Death-Spinners,
Chrome Shineing Monsters-The Millipedes And Goliath Beetles Have Evolved InTo...!
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How Could It Be For All The Peckings Of Young Hatchlings And The Congression
WithIn The Coop-Thought Chamber,
AllWays At War Against The Monkeys For Domination Over Humanity,
They Would Never Break A Ceremonyal Twig In Ritual For Treaty...
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The Chicken Would Rest Three Quarters From Where The Mantis Stood Praying,
Spying The Greatness Of Roaring AirPlanes Over Its Twitchy Feathered Head,
Selling The Spiritual Journey Of Its Final Form To Curious Green Eyes And Tilted Mandibles,
Lifting Its FlightLess Wings To The Sky... As Spinning Death Blackness
Driven By The Engines Of Ancestral Fright Crushed Its Meaty Body
InTo The Flat Grey NoThing...
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Beak DisLocated And Preening Hot-Grill For Kilometers... Shareing The Ride
With Equally SilkLess Moths...
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"Oh Wow," The Mantis Would Think,
"If That Is What The Chickens Want Of The Monkeys,
It Is No Wonder I Have To AllWays Eat My Husbands!"