I want to say it is yes yes

puberty’s
painted
egg, the island

clock, the genitalia

of alarm…

I want to say it is orange

like bees
like
not all

the hymns
not all

condoms…

I want to say
it’s uncooked

the body
patience

devours
and say

also
that as
a body

it belongs
to the father
whose nightmare, no...

a peeled
potato, a legless

chicken