Babbling Apparently

         Babbling Apparently

Like a glass house's thrown rock
This chip off the ol' block
         is only a splinter.
I look gift horses in the mouth
And doubt that birds fly south
         for the winter.

I bite the hand that feeds
And speak using words not deeds
         for all the luck I can push.
I build my house on the sand
And drop the bird from my hand
         to chase those in the bush.

As the plot inevitably thickens
I dare to count my chickens
         before they hatch,
And holding its breaths
My mouth writes checks
         my body can't cash.

I fear everything but fear itself
And put your promises on the top shelf
         with every pretty thing I've ever heard.
I squiggle my own apostrophes
Into all these senseless sophistries
         because they're worth more than your word.