Excerpt from “The Inn of the Empty Egg”:
The soul is fidelity
hollowed with infidelity to itself,
the Inn of the Empty Egg. An ancient aurochs,
Hieronymus Bosch looks back upon his shell, the Inn
of his undelivered body, so warm to those who still
remember covers, the candles under covers,
the cool warmth of finding the cardinal points of
one’s anatomy in the dark, late night, at 6 years old…