Saturday, April 03, 2010


eggs of love.
the clarity of spheres
oblonged by gravity

are droplets
protected, pearls
of the hen-body.

Anybody can make
eggs, break them over
a fire, eye the yellow

eye, gobble them
at midnight for
the protein rush--

more difficult
the hennybodies'
scent. Truck-packed

their caged reek
a kind of voice against
my love.

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