4:45am Sabbath Eve
~for she knows who~

2/7/25
<•>
the price of eggs is mundane,
controlled by supply and demand,
and the human need for
pleasure and pain,
delivered by merely breathing

what you are sensing
is a staple
that is unique and yet-ubiquitous,
entree always calculable
with math

With X being your financial
limitations, you can/cannot
afford
the pleasure or the pain
of eggs, especially the
Omega-3 Cage Free Vegetarian
Growth Hormone-Antibiotic
and Pesticides Free,
you so
Lazarus yearn to be free to buy,
but you’re free still
to buy and swallow the cheapest
eggs and still live another day

BUT THE PRICE OF POETRY!

Dear God, it’s beyond costly,
beyond mundane
it is pleasure and the pain,
in combination,
irreplaceable and un substitutable,
and happily
affordable and free
Incalculable and Unlimited
so unlike eggs

for I speak
of & to
your very soul

I would not die if I
never was to enjoy
an egg in any form ever;
but

if I-would
never write nor read another
poem, even then, I still would not-die,
but if only, and yet,
one could, one must
at the very least

live a life poetic

seeing and appreciating
the mysterious in/of life
the simplest complexity
of a stolen kiss,
the inescapable high
of one more spectacle
of morning sunrise
and the mourning meaning
of an evenings sunset

the precise mathematics of life
that is imprecisely inherent in it all,
of all that is
inherent in out
be~ing
and all that is
with~in
& ab~out us,

is recorded by our senses
preserved by memory
sometimes well, and sometimes not!

so we write to preserve it
better
in poems, music & paint

try to keep
the quantity of love and truth
given to us by family and friend,
in your heart+soul

but perhaps somethings
mathematically unmeasurable,
are harder to keep close by,
but this element of
the life poetic is corporeal
is measurable
determinate
effected
by the

unlimited availability of the
poetic life you
can choose to live
and the words
in your possess
you
can choose too
if
one has
to keep it
closer still

if you so choose to record it
with imperfect fallible
but yet useful
words
you live forever
<•>

(^And the muse is laughing at me,
She, giggling, saying
“you see why you rise up at 4:45 AM,
Only then can you see and love
and write of your poetic life!

and you willingly would die
when egged on to the beyond-you
on that day no longer do you ask
why, where when
and how”)

Has shame dried
Cranberry bogs
On cotton
Have hormones peaked
Or have the eggs spoiled,
Turned rotten
Is there more to a woman
Than her ****** functions
Or will she do as she's told
And remain in her place
On the bottom