from inside the egg

An animal urge to be human 

Let‘s bark

Said the dog to its people

Don‘t bite any hand that won‘t feed you

It‘s coming from inside the egg

Like waves in an ocean of heads

A balding moon haunts my days

a perfumed maid for the ruling class

and cold soup for the hungry

Belle Époque for some

Not many

all you see is how they dressed

the wealthy also shit their pants

when blades caress their throats

And everything is failure to comply

As I regale

in my poetic imperfections

I will never hit the brakes