eggs on toast

bread with jaundiced eyes
more slithery than mine
in blue morning haze
where kitchens have not shaved
the prickliness of albumen
tastes of unborn claws
on plates scraped by pop music
in tune with knives’ acuity
sharp as coffee, flat as biscuits
dunked and dropped
re-enacting witch trials
- guilty go to work -
innocent disposal of remains
in machinery of water
of face replacing gadgets
dentifrice and dermabrade
as dawn is like the eight of swords
daytime reads the ruins
in decks of toast
dealerships of melted margarine
around burnt edges
crusted eyelids creak
as loud as closing doors
or cracking egg shells