EGGS: FINGERNAILS

He is not still alive
He of Him
Who’s (He-She-It’s)
The One
That is so already dead’s

Done wondered down
Beneath the bridge
To Still Air City
In polo shirt
And ladies’ yellow fingernails

Quenching gusts of wind
Through eye watching
The tarp billow the blue
Light shining through
The fortress of a place
So faltered that wire snaps
Beneath his feet if not
Bristles in his presence

Like opache stank
Of the jellyroll face
A honest pup makes
In shadows of doubt

Where maidens clutch bags
And children weep constantly
Wailing the walls of Gravitron
At fever pitch to such degree

That he is so not still alive
In this way without Maker
That while he was walking
His mind was somewhere
Else
And no one knew
But saw and smelt
That
He was already dead
That
He was walking meat.