wjsullivan.net

Overloading the Machine

Omelet

I want to write a cracked egg poem with no yolk.
No, I want to write a jumbo egg poem with two yolks.

Toothpaste running down my freshly shaven chin
I divide my life into embryos of employment

and their locations, dozens of eras
dozens of yolks and the result

is financial and white. Divide
and continue, there is always more

to rerun and review. I don't need
to see the end of this show

the part where
like I said

how would you like your eggs?
Over

"...The name of the song is called 'Haddocks' Eyes'!" "Oh, that's the name of the song, is it?" Alice said, trying to feel interested. "No, you don't understand," the Knight said, looking a little vexed. "That's what the name is called. The name really is, 'The Aged Aged Man.'" "Then I ought to have said "That's what the song is called'?" Alice corrected herself. "No, you oughtn't: that's quite another thing! The song is called 'Ways and Means': but that's only what it is called you know!" "Well, what is the song then?" said Alice, who was by this time completely bewildered. "I was coming to that," the Knight said. "The song really is "A-sitting on a Gate": and the tune's my own invention."

-- Lewis Carroll, "Through the Looking Glass"