Upright Grit’s.

The goose in its upright pose 

bent its neck to eat grits 

Looking at the freedom of 

Missing Celtic promises 

taking in the riddling stones 

Arguments of refilled pearls 

In jar staring at the plucked 

feathers disgression’s

grown from its own ravaged shell 

to be placed in a cap forever casting 

light on the shadow’s envious gaze 

the left over’s from a career riffled 

and sent off into the seance 

Of which reindeer to choose 

To sing a old serenade with 

Have i told you 

I’ve never been a gentleman 

ginger doesn’t grow on grafted 

trees and if life descended 

Then that blonde is a glass 

Half filled and now history.