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,

or ostriches,

or geese.

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

sunny-side up,

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.