Quite the backstroker.

“Dreams of My Feather”

Dawn crows; can’t find the pluck to cluck / curse my fowl luck / the coop, not flown / a coup, not known / against the man who takes the eggs / against this roost, the endless days / you see a paltry portly poultry / flightless wing, head-bobs jolty / But strong, my beak, not bleak or meek / I may be chicken but I’m three-toe kicken’ / down this cage to move up in the world.

(Be careful what you wish for, guys)

If this ain’t cool, I don’t know what is

When that wide-open road beckons, you throw on your blue elephant-print silk shirt, strap on your souvenir flip-flops, open up the throttle on your e-bike and cruise down the Irrawaddy at a bad-ass 25 mph.