My word, that's a gut wrenching cry
you have there, monsieur le coq
A piercing horn-of-plenty rant
that causes the stars to retreat
No wonder St Peter repented

Is that cackle-raising to rouse those
who give their all for ghosts in machines?
Or does that siren you summon
quicken earthbound worms
early bird fishers of men
are after?

Chef de partie stirs his cuppacino dreams
Bulging pajamas shapeshift  
as he turns, chomps his jowels
and salivates *Long live Chicken a la King
Sharpen my knife