Grippo King, philosopher, and artist.
Downright to the marrow, he’s the arrow through the heartless.
Sunlight in the afternoon, his shadow travels furthest.
Woven through the heart of doom, he’s bursting through the surface.
Hardly nervous, suffice to say, he understands his purpose: Threshold King of everything, a comical absurdist.
Sometimes when he talks he sings, yet keeps his high notes wordless.
Barnyard escapees of da horned-bovine variety who decide to wander into populated areas to check out points of interest.
I wonder if a good way to deal wif an influx of taurusts is for da animals' owners to show up driving one or more of da "cars dat saved Ford from bankruptcy", and then said huge lumbering four-legged objects will be favorably attracted to said identically-named vehicles, and will therefore docilely follow said four-WHEELED objects out of town and back to their cattle-farms.