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#eggs
I've got a pair. I keep 'em in my underwear: Two eggs in a nest of hair.
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Sep 25, 2024
Sep 25, 2024 at 7:01 PM UTC
Eggs
pour A.V. an invitation en/in my arrondissement, 10021, but I worry that you might grow whimsicallysad, for York Ave., ain’t got non Parisien cafe au lait, but tell me when and i tell you the where’s, know a bistro/bakery were the croissants and macaroons are close enuf to the land of their Nativité (😉) even les Eufs battus et cuits à la poête are nuanced for discursive purposes… of course their is always New Yawk pizza (za) in the event the withdrawal symptoms are grandeur .. mais je ne parley francais
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Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 11:43 AM UTC
Croissant, omelette, le bistro en New York, c'est moi qui offre ?
but she'll crack a joke and it'll fry in the pan yoke running suntans like we're not burnt plan like we weren't drowning in tick marks learnt that those sparks don't set us alight snarks sizzle and kite our cheap cameras up fight or flight, cock-ups stroll us over to both makeup's made of oaths and expired lippies and growth was just memories we'd left behind cities were left unsigned and roosters hum spellbinds bit off crumbs of our holidays sums done sideways with scrambled minds haze of upturned blinds flip us sunny-side rinds of orange chide us but our hats are gone stride down, we egg on, sandals beg mercy but crayons colour sprees in glasses-off views degrees weren't those corkscrew rollercoasters drive-thru karaoke, poster bed fairy lights dim toasters retorted, skim reading as shoes kick dust limbs stiff, favour a cuss but don't do big talk buses see less than walks, distance is a job toolbox couldn't fix this throb. so maybe if we hadn't lit the fuse twice it might not have fireworked so quick but i'm glad we rolled that dice getting summered was a cement to those heat-blown bricks.
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Sep 10, 2025
Sep 10, 2025 at 10:48 AM UTC
Summered
Demand-pull, cost-push, built-in egg eggflation for my troubled soul Consumer price, producer price, house price egg eggflation for your fevered brow Creeping, walking, running, hyper egg eggflation for our worried minds Official, true, perceived and egg eggflation for these desperate times
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Sep 3, 2025
Sep 3, 2025 at 6:08 PM UTC
Good egg, bad egg, scrambled egg
I can’t eat undercooked eggs with runny yolks, Maybe that’s why I always end up frying them a little too much. I can’t give only a little of myself to someone, Maybe that’s why I end up losing all of myself to failed relationships. But I can always learn. To like runny yolks and give only as much as I get. ~Gunnika
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Aug 25, 2025
Aug 25, 2025 at 9:47 AM UTC
Undercooked Eggs and Burnt Bridges
E - Everyone T - That H - Has E - Eggs R - Really E - Expended A - A L - Lot . . A song for this: bad idea! by girl in red [E]
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Mar 25, 2025
Mar 25, 2025 at 8:47 PM UTC
Ethereal Acrostic
~ 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”)
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Feb 7, 2025
Feb 7, 2025 at 4:34 PM UTC
The Price of Eggs and the Price of Poetry
~ 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”)
Continue reading...
113
I came first I keep a golden life within me I am pale, Cold Yet I am delicate and may crack! If I am broken My treasure will be taken   It will sizzle It will burn My pale husk will be tossed aside While my golden life is devoured If only I was the chicken Not the egg
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Jan 26, 2025
Jan 26, 2025 at 10:24 PM UTC
EGG
I’ll always remember the warm breaths of sunlight, Dripping like honey over Your mother’s dying plants in glass bottles on the windowsill Of the kitchen where you wrapped your arms around my waist My hand holding a silicone spatula, navigating An egg on a pan. Sizzling, each hiss a whisper into The room, telling us to hold on tighter to this moment. I really don’t like eggs, I reasoned with you You tell me these are perfect, that you Make them just right. i wonder if you remember Teaching me to cook them just over medium The whites are cooked and the centre’s still soft How do you flip an egg quick enough that it Won't slip, but slow enough that the yolk won’t break. How do you end a soul tie quick enough that One of us won’t die, but slow enough that it won’t haunt me It haunts me. And i still make my eggs the same way, no sunlight Freckling our skin because i stand here alone I still feel the phantoms of your hands on me, the scraping Screeching noise of a metal spatula The ghost of your cologne on my collar. But I get it just right too. I can do it without you, and it’s better I tell myself But i know it’s not the same. I wonder one day When i meet someone who gets me just right Who is better for me than you were Will I make his eggs over medium? Or will my eyes dart And fingers twitch Searching for the best way to Run away quick enough that I won’t watch him cry, but slow enough that He won’t haunt me The same way you do.
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Dec 12, 2024
Dec 12, 2024 at 7:21 AM UTC
over medium eggs
It's crazy how someone Can come into your life And crack you open, Like an egg on the edge Of the counter. Everything that you thought was Perfect, Leaking out from the edges Of what you knew. You find out how much of yourself Spreads out and fills the empty space What you felt, what you feel. The pain of change. They love you fully, Even the shell of who you were Before they came in. They whisk you around And show you how beautiful life Can truly be. Their love, the salt and pepper, Sprinkled across the fried edges Of your soul. It's crazy how someone can come Into your life, And you lie helpless on the skillet Of their heart. The most important thing to remember Are the memories. Loving them with everything you gave
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Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 6:43 PM UTC
Scrambled Eggs
Life, detour to death. Yet when scrambled around, it’s Death, detour to life.
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Feb 12, 2024
Feb 12, 2024 at 10:19 PM UTC
Scrambled Eggs
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
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May 1, 2023
May 1, 2023 at 9:13 AM UTC
USDA - PRIME
Reproduction is oocyting. With beingness what it is. From eggs we all develop as does every animal that lives. 500 cardinal gambles tendered for congress milt to meet, before fecund moons by periods ended. From family we are decended but from eggs we all are rendered. ************ breaking it down ********** It’s about eggs. All amminals come from eggs, humans are animals An oocyte is the original cell that divides to form an **** - I made it “oocyting” a play on exciting - reprodiction is exciting. 500 - a female baby is born with 500 eggs (all she will ever have) cardinal = a number   gambles = a chance to reproduce.   tendered = given (in a womans life) congress = ****** ***********   milt = ***** fecund = fertile.   moons (monthly) period = when the current unfertalized egg is disposed of. taa daaa!
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Nov 29, 2021
Nov 29, 2021 at 11:38 AM UTC
rendered
Do you see me? I am running with the peacocks. They are the Peahens protecting their eggs and i a part of the harem mating. Forget the beauty of our plumage -- we will **** anyone who tries to get our eggs. :: 11.16.2021 ::
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Nov 17, 2021
Nov 17, 2021 at 6:42 PM UTC
TERRITORIALLY FIERCE
Beginning like a little egg, soon to hatch into a butterfly we search for the way of the butterfly, starting from the lowest phase slowly reaching the skies. Butterflies are like us, they cannot see the elegance in their wings, but everyone else sees their glorious emergence in the likeness of winter to spring. Like a bridge connecting two energies, one is water and the other is fire. Both form a steam, two in one are gathered to roam around, with the sun above drowning them in a stream of unity. Rainbow arises, butterflies absorb its colors spreading its waves across in every life, foaming the surface in flowers. We search for the way of the butterfly that reaches the dawn of another day.
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Mar 2, 2021
Mar 2, 2021 at 4:56 AM UTC
The Way of the Butterfly
it was a cuckoo who flew the coup took wing from his nest off to push out eggs, like pee-pa just another everyday coup d'etat leopard leaping from his perch pushing onward toward his prey a small friend to no feline trapped in a quick sand left only to bay you are these animals
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Jan 30, 2021
Jan 30, 2021 at 8:52 PM UTC
Getting Bent Over A Barrel
Love makes us liars, but not in the traditional sense Love makes us liars, but not how you think The smell of eggs fills the air, she made you breakfast. You don't like eggs that much, but you swallow with a smile You comment they are delicious. All the while the thought of the lie is making you tense, Only for you to lose your sense, as you wake up the next day, with eggs on your plate.
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Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 12:14 PM UTC
eggs
(smc) You must be a mean old queen-hen laying on someone else's eggs lactating your stolen eggs and a beggar in the nest that belongs to someone else. L O L ~~~ Copy Rights Karijinbba.
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Jul 31, 2020
Jul 31, 2020 at 8:47 PM UTC
~smc~
Blue constantly coats black And black again to be smothered in more blue How do you like your eggs in the morning? I like mine with a black eye. Boiled or fried? I’m satisfied, as long as my honour is torn apart.
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Jul 10, 2020
Jul 10, 2020 at 5:58 PM UTC
How do you like your eggs?
you can only have one box of eggs she said but we have to make omelettes for five well you just can't have them she reiterated now cashiers are making culinary decisions in my household
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Apr 15, 2020
Apr 15, 2020 at 6:36 PM UTC
rationing rationality
Are those my cream eggs? Those look like mine. Where did you find them? I'm sure I had nine. Are those my cream eggs? They better not be. Cos if they are, You owe me!
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Apr 12, 2020
Apr 12, 2020 at 12:46 AM UTC
Cream Eggs
I gata go back, don’t u? I wanna go back, don’t u?
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Apr 8, 2020
Apr 8, 2020 at 9:24 PM UTC
Mortality