Twice performed at Neu Kirche Contemporary Art Center, Pittsburgh PA

contemplation and an egg:
we already have everything we need.

it went something like this:
you walked up some stairs into the chapel. you took an egg and a pamphlet of instructional poems. you sat with your egg and when it seemed like the right time, you went back down the stairs to the kitchen where i was waiting to cook your egg perfectly (whatever that meant). you brought the egg back upstairs and ate it. meanwhile, the room is watching itself.

Service.

Choose your egg and hold onto it.

You are in the light of this room.

I am downstairs in the kitchen.

I have all the tools.

There is no order, but hopefully a flow of going down and coming up will establish itself.

You will tell me about your perfect egg and I will make it for you. You can bring it back upstairs and eat it, that will let someone else know they can come down.

Leave your dishes in the bin on the way out.

Right now many other things are happening.

tick tick tick tick tick tick ding! (sigh)

you are perfect, you already have everything you need. Being cool is being without need, I was told.

This is all there is so let's let it be itself and make something with it

All this potential, bound up in form. What can I possibly do for you?

Roll it around in your hands, this smoothness that fits. It might get warm and that's all fine. Some instructions say things will turn out better if that's the case.

Please be gentle though. I do not want to ruin the carpet.

Breaking it? what is at stake? if you were really angry I might say buy a dozen and smash them all.

Maybe it just sits next to you.

Maybe this thing floats or sinks depending on how long it's been around, or spins in a circle, depending on how hard it has become on the inside.

over-easy, a gentle flip at the right, the last, moment and then slid out quickly before too much happens.

The first time somebody had you, they took you, I can only guess, like so many other things, How on earth did we know to try? I don’t know if I ever would have thought to crack you open if it hadn’t been done millions of times before and I never asked why.

poached, quivering, plucked out of a cloudy swirl and dabbed off to be, on a good day, generously sauced..

A woman named Mary Francis said that until broken, you were one of the most private things in the world.

scrambled, beaten together to become one single shade of yellow, made lighter, pushed around making softly solid clumps to be picked up gently with a fork

You are fragile, with a bubble of air.

fried, cracked into a foaming, shimmering slick, sputtering and bubbling, if I hadn’t been mindful, becoming opaque. I think to say that for sunny side up you should be like jelly isn't quite right. you should be cloudy.

I want to coax you into readiness, treat you gently, ease you in, ease you out. take my time and serve forth something soft and runny and warm, or crispy, browned and hard, crunchy on the edge. it’s whatever you want.

inside outside inside.

running all over, after a fork is slid in sideways, you, thickly pooling and spreading, congealing, if left to dry, I will have to scrub, and pick with the nail of my thumb.

dipping a small spoon into a liquid center, plunging down into your just barely set bright yellow middle. Any longer and you would have met something solid. but right now, there is no resistence, only when you realize you are scraping the bottom, scratching the inside of a shell.

Rolling you on the counter until very thing hard on the outside peels away. Sometimes too much of the inside goes with it and it feels like a waste.

you are just yourself.

Scrambled fried scrambled poached over easy hard medium soft boiled hard

Deviled, what does that mean?

I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting I'm waiting

I'm watching.

you might leave feeling better

II

Does that trick, with the pavement on a hot summer day work?

what about the hood of my car?

a flame is the only thing I’ve ever used.

or the morning after, gulped down raw in a single swallow.

we can try it when we wake up together.

there is not a single part that doesn’t need to be treated gently.

there isn’t a single way where timing isn’t everything.

the time of day doesn’t matter though.

III

take care.