"Oh, hey."

"Hi."

"So...soon?"

"Now."

"Oh. Kinda early, huh? I mean, I di-"

"I don't really work on other people's schedules."

"Ha. I figured."

"..."

"So, any advice?"

"It will hurt. Don't try to find the reason, or purpose. You are dirt flowing into soil, experiencing the cycle. Nothing has really changed."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Can you just,  like, tell them, eventually? When you seem them."

"Tell your children everything? Even-"

"Yes."

"Very well."

"...One last thing?"

"What."

"I won't, FEEL, anymore, right?"

"Yup."

"Good. Thanks."

Will you speak?

No, your tongue is lead

And your voice trembles your stomach

Will you perform?

No, your fingers are rubber

And sweat paralyzes your every joint

Will you kiss?

No, because in the bowels of their eyes

You see only pity and disgust

And know that in your heart

The depths of the soul

You are failure

Unless you make the jump

But it's a long way down

A long, long way down 

My little sister loved eggs.

Every time we went over to Aunt Mary’s house,

With her coops of cocks and chickens,

She had to see some freshly laid

Eggs.

And although everyone warned her that

The white and yellow would drip all down her legs,

Making wet all of her crevices and bends,

She still was surprised

When the yolk

Bled

Out.

But sometimes, I like to think

That those white shells

Remain whole

Somewhere.