Eggs sizzling in the rivers of fat from the bacon, sausages and black pudding of others
As they pile on the pounds that threaten to consume them, to suck them into their own
vortex, their own centre of gravity, the iris of the self.
A black dot contracting and expanding.
Pulsating.
Gasping
Hanging on
At nine AM
for its last breath
until
it swims away like a black tadpole
in a downfall of freshly squeezed orange juice
diluted by creamy warm coffee
stalked by hot scalding tea
bumped along and shifted into
a soft yolky sandpit landing …
Gold.
Copyright owned by Jay Cool
The Photo is from Max Pixel and is labelled as a Creative Commons image, free for reuse.
