it starts out as a thought
which is to say

the only thing
between nothing and thought
is me

what am i mostly?
tonight i caught a knife
after i dropped it

at first i felt impressed
that is not unlike
an immediate thought

a knife
falling through the mind

i’d rather have a spoon
an egg

the things i feel second
thirdly about

to balance my egg
down this botched,
carnivalian raceway

keeping the spoon straight
with my mind

i’d avoid the knife-jugglers
who are looking
directly at me

their points connected
umbilically
to my sternum

it’s like my body knows
it will die that way
in some freak accident

there is one long
accordion squeeze
of life

you leave your egg
in a basket
at the end