Regress into egghood
and let's incubate.
If I am feeling frightened for the future,
I will talk to you about eggs.
The white oval kind,
preferably lain by chickens,
I have been incubating for too long,
and I fear I cannot remain an egg forever.
I am going to crack
not completely against my will.
I've just done such an excellent job
staying so smooth and intact
it's a shame to see me
shatter at the edges,
seeping gold until I'm left
with shells of a honeyed past.
Now I am in a frying pan,
and truthfully I do not know
where to go from here,
for I really do not like eggs -
eating them, that is -
so for all I know
the next thing that happens
is that the egg magically turns
but even then I don't know what sunny-side up
really looks like, so let's just say
my future is uncertain.
I am an egg and I cannot incubate forever and I've cracked
although the metaphor dies because wouldn't an incubated egg hatch
unless it was destined for some cruel trick of fate?
But I have cracked and I don't know
if I'm the shells or the inner part
because I thought I was the whole
but clearly that cannot be the case
so let me just frizzle here for a second
feeling jealous of all those fluffy chickens
and talk to you about eggs.