Poetizing

I brought myself to breed some poems,
before they bounce me out,
like the Perennial pullet,
which is eaten by the same passion.

For this my good mother chased it
to the backyard. She didn’t let it out,
to breed on the laid
eggs any more.

Ever-more this is how my mother’s
chickens breed, the well-mannered,
the ones which got off the
last year’s massacre.

The truth is, that the fluctuation
is higher, and the pullets
has to lay eggs before breeding,
at least for a clutch.

Thus how ones become,
- after they brood -
perfectly inedible.
They will survive, if they breed well.

After three weeks
there comes the imprinting effect.
To breed a poem like this - I don’t want to.
Someone else should cultivate this genre of art.

It would be great to tracel to Poetto:
It’s the best place for a poet, yo!