The Oval
The egg is a perfect secret unkept
it breaks as you would into tears
and slides weeks of sun into a lathered
pan
long and yet round, the serving plate
is green
and came from the green house with a
very fine lawn
the candy bursts in the mouth like
balloons
all day I will dream of the next day
coming up to me
on a bus where the streets are numbered
in these
little squares you'd find on a calendar
I don't want to say anything anymore I
want to pray
a silent song you can't unhear in the
still of morning
where the eggs are fresh and peppered
to begin.
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