Vivid Madness

Too many eggs.

I have joined the Earth
and grown as cold.
A proper slant upon intractable flanks.
Eggs demand my life;
they test my limits
with some such trickery beyond my ken.
Presto say ovoid ova,
fourteen of albumin and yolk
that have not any right to be.
The carton cannot speak,
yet still I see no flawed design,
design for twelve
as twelve suits me just fine.
A sleuth may explain
this current egg conundrum,
where an extra two appear
when I unhinge the lid.
Maybe he would spin like me
in definitions undetermined.
They idle in dim light these eggs,
they prove outré beginnings.
My condition no concern,
a crush aside the living.
I see as much, dark sacs in tumble,
steel floats like morning storm;
a swirl of straw in icy rain,
mauve flame in verdant meadow.
No hopes aflutter nor long stares
can alter mathematics.
I would rather say I dream
than wrestle with enigma.
I am bereft of utter debt,
for eggs shape glad and mammon...
and I am merely mortal.


34 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
9-7-14