frying eternity

i have a one way ticket to eternity -
no guests allowed

3 am - i wanna be on my way
to subconscious delights
and private hallucinations

frying eggs in the middle of the night -
i bang the yokes
with a plastic spatula,
striking it with the edge,
as though i am playing
mock-drums with a pen
(as is my custom with the spatula),
the yellow yoke
breaks
and runs into
and spreads evenly
with the lucid egg whites
in the pan

it's an hour til midnight
and my head is filled with words,
so i find myself
pounding away at the keyboard

3/5/14



Poetry by Thomas Perdue The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 704 times
Written on 2014-03-07 at 05:24

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Ivan R
Right title as it goes on to just speak about a thing, but between the lines, that's were it all happens,
because a yoke is merely just that, but in this poem ..it is eternity,
great stuff this is!
2014-03-09