i
      found
      a
      beak
      in
      my
      eggs
      this
     
     
      morning.
      it
      was
      just
      sitting
      there
      between
     
     
      two
      big,
      plump
      pieces
      of
      scrambled
      egg,
     
     
      covered
      in
      a
      light
      coating
      of
      cheeze-whiz,
     
     
      acting
      naturally.
      a
      beak
      in
      my
      eggs?
      really?
     
     
      is
      this
      possible?
      how
      could
      such
      a
      thing
     
     
      happen?
      should
      i
      eat
      it?
      all
      of
      these
      ques-
     
     
      tions
      running
      through
      my
      mind
      at
      top
     
     
      speed,
      demanding
      -
      demanding!
      -
      answers.
     
     
      iam,
      yes
      i
      am
      going
      to
      have
      to
      eat
      this
     
     
      beak;
      i
      just
      need
      a
      little
      time,
      a
      little
     
     
      courage;
      stab
      lift
      mouth
      chew;
      swallow
     
     
      shit;
      flush;
      the
      real
      "life"
      of
      an
      aborted
     
     
      chicken
      embryo.
      but
      what
      would
      they
      face
     
     
      if
      they
      were
      to
      live?
      and
      i
      wonder;
      what
     
     
      must
      be
      going
      through
      their
      little
      chicken
     
     
      heads
      right
      now
      as
      they
      lay
      sprawled
      all
     
     
      over
      the
      plate?
      —
      oh.
      well
      yeah,
      i
      guess
     
     
      their
      heads
      haven't
      actually,
      ahhhhhh...
     
     
      formed
      yet,
      but
      this
      rubbery
      little
      beak
      cer-
     
     
      tainly
      has.
     
    

    
     
      and
      actually,
      to
      tell
      the
      truth
      i
      had
     
     
      been
      pretending
      not
      to
      see
      it
      at
      first
     
     
      because
      i
      was
      afraid
      i
      might
      startle
      it
      and
     
     
      force
      it
      to
      attack
      out
      of
      fear,
      so
      when
      i
     
     
      thought
      it
      wasn't
      looking
      i
      jabbed
      my
      fork
     
     
      down,
      impaling
      one
      of
      the
      larger
      pieces
      of
     
     
      egg
      which
      was
      nearest
      the
      beak
      in
      hopes
     
     
      that
      it
      wouldn't
      notice.
      i
      began
      to
      lift
      it
      to
     
     
      my
      mouth
      when
      the
      beak
      shook
      and
     
     
      lunged,
      latched
      on
      to
      the
      large
      particle
      of
     
     
      scrambled
      chicken
      embryo
      on
      the
      way
      to
     
     
      my
      mouth
      and
      pulled
      back
      with
      all
      of
      it's
     
     
      strength.
      i
      just
      shook
      my
      fork
      and
      dis-
     
     
      placed
      the
      beak,
      then
      continued
      on
      with
     
     
      my
      mouth-watering
      intent.
     
    

    
     
      and
      then
      the
      beak
      became
      agitated
     
     
      for
      some
      reason,
      and
      began
      beak-dancing,
     
     
      circling
      around
      on
      the
      plate,
      swimming
     
     
      through
      a
      plateful
      of
      itself,
      devouring
      its
     
     
      own
      self
      and
      all
      of
      it's
      very
      sort-of
      remain-
     
     
      ing
      fucking
      friends.
      and
      all
      very
      quickly.
      i
     
     
      -was
      udderly
      disgusted.
     
    

    
     
      but
      the
      eggs
      weren't
      actually
     
     
      going
      anywhere,
      they
      weren't
      being
     
     
      devoured;
      it
      was
      of
      course,
      just
      a
      beak;
      it
     
     
      had
      no
      throat;
      no
      body;
      no
      stomach.
      it
      was
     
     
      like
      a
      door
      in
      a
      frame
      without
      a
      hallway,
     
     
      without
      a
      room,
      with
      nothing.
      a
      door
      in
      a
     
     
      frame,
      all
      by
      it's
      dead
      wood
      self.
      a
      hungry
     
     
      dead-tree
      door,
      opening
      and
      closing
      and
     
     
      devouring
      slaughtered
      human
      bodies
      on
      a
     
     
      plate.
      no
      chewing.
      well,
      perhaps
      chewing.
     
     
      perhaps
      chewing
      and
      perhaps
      live
      human
     
     
      bodies
      and
      frothing
      pulpy
      blood
      at
      it's
     
     
      dead-tree
      mouth
      corners
      and
      wooden
     
    
   
   
    
     
      page
      [14]
      april
      9
      2003
     
    
   
   
    
     
      beak
      eggs
      breast
      milk
     
    
   
   
    
     
      laughing
      with
      serious
      slamming
      noises
      in
     
     
      the
      background.
      and
      the
      mouth
      of
      a
      door
     
     
      slams
      down
      on
      a
      child's.
      fingers?
      the
      fin-
     
     
      gers
      of
      an
      unborn
      child?
      and
      aborted
     
     
      child?
      naked
      women
      screaming
      with
      erect
     
     
      nipples?
     
    

    
     
      but
      that's
      all
      make-believe,
      doors
     
     
      don't
      actually
      do
      any
      of
      this
      nonsense,
      but
     
     
      they
      do
      chew
      the
      occasional
      children's
      fin-
     
     
      ger
      and
      women
      do
      scream.
      but
      so
      do
      men
     
     
      now
      there's
      no
      need
      to
      anger
      the
      feminists,
     
     
      i'm
      going
      to
      have
      to
      eat
      this
      beak
      soon
      it's
     
     
      making
      me
      crazy
      and
      i
      think
      my
      nipples
     
     
      are
      erect
      again,
      and
      leaking.
     
    

    
     
      coming
      back
      out
      of
      my
      head
      i
     
     
      looked
      back
      to
      the
      beak
      and...
      how?
      how
     
     
      could
      this
      be?
      well,
      stranger
      things
      have
     
     
      happened.
      have
      they?
      i
      poked
      at
      the
      rub-
     
     
      bery
      little
      thing
      with
      my
      stainless
      steel
     
     
      fork,
      but
      it
      didn't
      seem
      very
      interested
      in
     
     
      my
      actions,
      and
      simply
      continued
      on
      with
     
     
      it's
      break-dancing
      and
      egg
      swallowing
     
     
      antics.
      why
      would
      a
      beak
      be
      interested
      in
      a
     
     
      fork
      anyway?
      but
      then,
      why
      wouldn't
      it
     
     
      beak?
      i
      moved
      it
      around
      on
      the
      plate
      in
     
     
      large,
      flowing
      gestures,
      dragging
      the
      small,
     
     
      red,
      dangling
      pieces
      of
      natural
      beak-fol-
     
     
      lowing
      device
      along
      with
      it.
      and
      what
      a
     
     
      conglomeration
      of
      beak-following
      device!
     
     
      -
      otherwise
      known
      as
      a
      blood-clot
      -
      but
     
     
      who
      wants
      to
      use
      the
      word
      blood-clot?!
     
     
      and
      i'll
      tell
      you!
      people
      simply
      don't
      have
     
     
      to
      hear
      about
      that
      repulsive
      kind
      of
      thing,
     
     
      and
      that's
      why
      i
      keep
      my
      fucking
      sick
      dan-
     
     
      gling
      blood-clots
      to
      myself!
     
    

    
     
      :
      "hello?"
      i
      asked
      the
      beak,
      "hello?
     
    

    
     
      natural
      beak-following
      device?"
     
    

    
     
      stop
      it
      now,
      stop
      it!
      who
      was
      i
     
     
      talking
      to?
      the
      eggs?
      the
      beak?
      the...
      ?
      stop
     
     
      it,
      are
      you
      mad?
      control
      yourself,
      you're
     
     
      letting
      your
      mind
      run
      away
      with
      your
      fin-
     
     
      gers!
      and
      stop
      being
      filthy!
      sex
      with...
      !?
     
    

    
     
      a
      slimmed,
      steaming
      chick,
      rising
     
     
      up
      through
      dripping
      scrambled
      eggs
      like
      a
     
     
      monster
      breaking
      through
      the
      earths
      crust
     
     
      while
      proclaiming
      it's
      claimed
      strength
      to
     
    
   
   
    
     
      _
      the
      world!
      orange
      slime
      dripping
      off
      it's
     
    
   
   
    
     
      soft
      coat
      of
      feathers,
      it's
      poor,
      frail,
     
     
      scrawny,
      weak
      body
      struggling
      to
      shake
     
     
      off
      the
      aborted
      chicken
      slop
      attempting
      to
     
    
   
   
    
     
      drag
      it
      down
      to
      it's
      final
      chicken
      chirp.
      and
      _
     
    
   
   
    
     
      the
      bird
      flaps
      and
      leaps
      at
      my
      face!
     
     
      screaming
      vicious
      chirp
      words
      and
      sen-
     
     
      tences,
      short
      paragraphs
      -
      even
      fitting
      in
      a
     
     
      tremendous
      little
      haiku,
      and
      with
      no
      sign
     
     
      of
      emotion!
      -
      and
      in
      such.a
      time
      of
      emo-
     
     
      tion!
      i
      was
      amazed;
      the
      most
      beautiful
     
    
   
   
    
     
      poetry
      i'd
      ever
      heard
      coming
      from
      some-
     
     
      thing
      that
      leapt
      at
      my
      face
      after
      i'd
      fried
      it
     
     
      up
      on
      a
      hot,
      buttered
      pan.
      consequently,
     
     
      my
      eyes
      were
      locked
      on
      the
      little
      threat
     
     
      with
      amazement,
      and
      possibly
      filial
      love.
     
     
      or
      was
      it
      agape?
      it
      shouldn't
      be
      so
      hard
      to
     
     
      distinguish
      should
      it?
      who
      cares,
      it
      would
     
     
      never
      love
      me
      back,
      never,
      not
      now,
      not
     
     
      after
      I'd
      fried
      it
      up
      in
      butter
      with
      the
      intent
     
     
      on
      eating
      it
      -
      and
      it's
      friends.
      sorry.
     
    

    
     
      and
      ironically,
      it
      was
      the
      fear
      of
     
     
      those
      tiny
      claws
      scratching
      and
      pecking
     
     
      my
      vision
      out
      of
      their
      respective
      sockets
      in
     
     
      an
      exhausted
      fury
      of
      baby
      chicken
      that,
      in
     
     
      the
      end,
      made
      me
      start,
      alert,
      and
      i
      woke
     
     
      up
      just
      as
      i
      was
      just
      again
      beginning
      to
     
     
      imagine
      naked
      little...
      hey,
      look,
      I've
      told
     
     
      you;
      stop
      it
      with
      those
      dirty
      thoughts!
      sex
     
     
      with...
      ?!
     
    
   
   
    
     
      a
      baby.
      chick.
      rising
      up
      through
     
     
      the
      eggs.
      like
      some
      deranged
      and
      physical-
     
     
      ly
      retarted
      monster,
      breaking
      through
      a
      pile
     
     
      of
      slaughtered
      friends
      and
      proclaiming
      it's
     
     
      claimed
      strength
      to
      the
      world
      with
      anger.
     
     
      yellow
      and
      orange
      slime
      dripping
      off
      it's
     
     
      soft
      coat
      of
      feathers,
      it's
      poor,
      frail,
      twisted
     
     
      husk
      of
      struggling,
      trembling
      self
      trying
      to
     
     
      shake
      off
      the
      wet,
      aborted
      embryo's
      that
     
     
      attempt
      to
      drag
      it
      down
      to
      a
      drowned,
     
     
      scrambled
      death.
      growing
      with
      strength,
     
     
      unflinching
      in
      it's
      fight
      for
      life,
      expanding
     
     
      in
      size,
      growing
      into
      a
      giant
      chicken
      with
      a
     
     
      giant
      chicken
      brain,
      and
      tearing
      human
     
     
      embryo's
      out
      of
      pregnant
      women
      locked
      in
     
     
      dark,
      cramped,
      dirty
      cages
      and
      frying
      them
     
     
      together
      only
      to
      serve
      them
      up
      to
      up
      to
     
     
      giant
      chicken
      families
      for
      breakfast
      before
     
     
      giant
      chicken
      church.
      giant
      chicken
      fami-
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
      2003
     
    
   
   
    
     
       
     
    
   
   
    
     
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