I am being made new. The egg, cracked in half. Taped together with scotch tape and super glue. The yolk entirely devoid of its once-consistant home.
This is emptiness. This is being renewed. This is what it is to feel and not feel. To be and not be.
The hand dips me. Reaches for me. Dunks me in a solvent of cement and tissue paper.
I am rock. I am eggshell. I am tissue paper. I am two parts vulnerable, one part entirely indestructible.
I weigh 1000 tons.
I would sink in a river.
I miss the yolk that once inhabited me. Golden yellow: So much promise. So much desire.
A gray mallet cracks me open. It ecavates me.
I miss my terrible weight.
A hot glue gun binds me back together. I am neither egg nor rock nor air nor yolk. I am all and none at all. I am egg soup. Egg solid. Egg squared and solidified. Egg smashed and built again. ...The limitless persistance of life.