Which came first:

The chicken or the egg?

Well, the **** of the walk

Of course!


You ought to know, silly kid,

That he has always ruled the roost, —

Kicking up dirt

Crowing all the live-long day

Fighting anything that he sees

All to prove his strength.


That's how he has always been, —

One day, he just wanted to take his dominance

That little step further

And so, the world gave him a hen.


So quiet and gentle

Sweet and demure

She balances him out quite nicely.


She spends most of her days

Resigned to her coop

Laying egg after egg

In her warm, dark room.

She attends to the ****

Whenever he wants her

Then becomes a living factory once again, —

Producing babies and food

Food and babies.


She does this for most of her life, —

Until she gets too old, that is.

She dries up, gets fat

And, by Sunday,

She'll be on our table for dinner.


Laughing and chewing

Clucking and squalling

We'll sink our teeth in,

Never once thinking

About how her entire lifetime

Was defined by giving

And the ****, —

Well, it won't take him long

To pick out a younger, prettier chick

To take her place.


Which came first, —

The chicken or the egg?

Obviously, it was the **** of the walk, —

The one who screams his triumph at every sunrise

The one whose meat is too tough for us to devour

The one who will never, ever die.

Everything else is just a page in his never-ending story, —

Everything else

Is merely consequential.

Genetic DIY in my realm,
Glow, little glow worm, glow puppy or guppy or
maiden hair, modded to the max-men can
imagine, when agreeing to believe.

"nothing
imagined shall be impossible for them"
or the sense
that makes,

conveyed in words di
gestated long long long ago
ere toungues was tangled
and us and es and ds and hs and bvs

umlauts and tildes and tittles and jots
attempted to say it all after
it is written is/was
different than it is/was said, it is common

filth is now
called clean, in greek

with homophony rhymes and rhythms
'idin' aitches and gees us commoners
miss, out on the edges of the
fusion, with which,
those wild tongues was tamed, in time,
write the message, make it plain

in the school of the prophets, thems' the rules,
publish precizision bits of insight into knowables
known,
the knowledge of our
mob, told and re-told, told and retold, told and re
one moment.
A glimpse of a gleam of a photonic
spec, seen proper,
it was a germ-cell mod, in a word.

Spat, rather than spoken. A message at the level

where you nowgno this is possible -- a flick
of a gene switch on the ladder like
structure bhering message-engers up and down,

instructing structures to form frames on which you
may sublimate and recompose, upon a grain
of pre-pearl material,

pending loosing of that pen-ultimate lie.

Look, who's tellin' what to whom?
Like, Do Not Lose The Thread of History,

which happens to need re-tying,
from time to time,
like a shoe, yes, child, like a shoe.

Worthy to tie my own shoe, at two---
you d'man! Ex-clam, pure pearl polished

Big Boy, tied yo'own shoe,

Momma gonna buy you a diamond farm,

just over that hill,
you go see, someday, you will

Find a Diamond Farm, where the reality
of what coud be,
began to gestate, wait, diamonds are not for

ever.
Diamonds are for grinding gritty silicon to the
finest dust,

to force a sneeze, re
leasing, loosing, letting go, all the lies you knew,

to chew
well, raw liver-level, nasty tastin' pre-
digested crap from alchemical rantings
a guy said he seen
after some spit from a perfect stranger
got rubbed in to his eye,
pearly friction feels this way,
can't scratch it, gotta gum it,
roll it round
and round, like Redman,
or cow cud, a chaw,
a chew

someunsame, somesamesame sniffles,
in my realm,

swallow the final chawn and un spat lie,
and gasp at first glimpse of next.