Strategy is in the rhythm,
the rhythm understood through millennia,
not nightly, not morningly.
Eggs appear on soft ground.
From eggs come the eyes.
When eyes grow legs enough,
eyes consume the egg.
Beat eggs—beaten noses
Eyes glim among swarms of woes
— producing
— protruding
— eating away at…
— Am I producing?
Only if acid in the stomach.
Only for an omelet. Only when red-y.
Mustard-yellow grin
Melts into a chair.
When stoned, legs cave,
Sink into a chair.
Embrace Thames and sore bones,
Butter and Sorbonne.
Exist
Not in vain
but to feed progress
Exist
squeezed together in a shell
until the shell cracks open,
Then-
A pre-face, predetermined,
forms again, grows legs,
and gulps you whole-
yolk and all.
Embrace.
