On Peeling an Egg
Now and then a bloody fleck
disturbs the white –
a blot of failed liver?
Surely the organs grow
in the serious yellow –
the not-quite gizzard,
the almost gut, the heart
unfulfilled. Strange to cup it
whole and nude in my palm,
to feel something like a god.
Rabbits Hanging Round the Stall
We are skinned
and we hang by our feet,
and the children ask their fathers
why our eyes bulge out
like someone wrapped
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