Of men and fowls

At 36,000 feet
illuminated for all the world to see
clearly

A grey-smoked object
curves and colors retreat from it.
Laid-straight veins lead to and from
Dark masses coursing in, out, in, out.

Like angry, raised purple cords
across the innocent, milky face of an egg

We are the disease - Shamed by fowl.


Copyright ©2006 John Wesley Lampe