EGGS: ‘KNOW THYSELF’

VIEW POEM ON NASHVILLE CREAM BLOG HERE

 

Somewhere between the Scopes trial and the Golden Corral, I lost my mind, yet found it again between the pages of the New American Journal of Phrenology: as a man of letters, I seek to know myself, so know thyself, as the present is concerned, and jump from there: call me Dr. Know, Dr. K-en-O. According to the claw, the inside of my mind is just a fetus in utero, kicking and floating, in a reservoir of amniotic tears, fed through the umbilical cords running from my eyeballs, thriving on stimuli, until one day, crunching, squirting, and sliding out of my mouth after my teeth fall out, like they do every night as I dream, to walk the Earth in search of Bacon. Perhaps she was right, perhaps this world really is just, “School For Babies,” but in what other world could a man such as I attain, and violently cling to, a 4.0?