house of eggs

sometimes i believe that yolks
are a storybook. the last twelve eggs
i opened had nothing but a gasp inside.
the chickens do not sleep anymore.
they work to add onto the house.
room after room of eggs. you can only
eat so many shells until you are sick.
until you start coughing up vases.
crystal rabbits. halos. i am too afraid
to turn on the stove of eggs. instead 
i lay down on top. wait to hard boil.
till my guts become squid eyes. i don't
even see you anymore. you moved into
a far away room in the house years ago.
growing apart is the kind of grief
with no hole to throw your teeth into.
i wake up in the middle of the night
to ask the chickens for a favor. 
i beg, "will you make me a room that 
cannot be crushed?" they look confused.
the moon has thousands of legs. 
they believe i am crazy & so they chatter
& hurry away. i know there is no such thing
as an egg that does not fracture but 
i have this dream of a place where
i can go without a roof. the rain comes
& so does the golden sun. i am not myself
or i am the self who finally has a tooth. 
i am unsure if there is a me in here.
it is like searching for the bottom
of a ball pit. you used to sing & i would
hear it through the eggs. i would rush
to try & find you. now, you don't sing
or else i can't hear you over the eggs' calling. 
the chickens build a bell tower of eggs.
i go & wait for you there. i wonder if
you are hungry in the ways i am
or if we are just two bells in the purple dark.
the chickens lay & lay & lay.