The Bird King's Eggs

The Bird King's eggs are 

subatomic particles 

created serendipitously 

by 

a 

sneeze 

in a quantum physicist's dream.

Occupying a space 

between existence 

and nothingness, 

reason 

and madness, 

broccoli 

and cauliflower,

they lie dormant 

in the brains of millions,

their presence sometimes hinted 

by a little blackout, 

momentary aphasia,

a smudged face in a memory.

Frequently mistaken for full stops 

(periods, if you're American), 

the Bird King's eggs 

are in fact 

commas.

They rhyme with horse, 

daffodil, 

sponsor, 

pustule, 

lurid 

and curtain.

But because they're neither poetry nor prose, those with a mania for classification refuse to acknowledge their existence.

It won't surprise you to learn

that the Bird King's eggs 

resemble hand grenades 

or suppositories, 

depending on the time of day 

and state of mind 

of the observer.

They smell of parsley, plastic and piss.

If you don't have any,

you can make some at home. 

All you need are 

a jar of dolls' tears, 

a strip of lightning, 

a ghost's moustache 

and twenty pints of sour milk.

We've reached that point in the poem

where a discussion

of the author's intentions

is inevitable. 

So, what do the Bird King's eggs represent?

Lacking the stable symbolism 

of a cross 

or a skull,

the Bird King's eggs 

flicker

in 

and out 

of meanings, 

whirring,

blurring,

burning.

They are coffins, building blocks, severed heads, cocoons, seeds, paper weights, lumps of clay, shells, bombs, Russian dolls.

Some have argued that the Bird King's eggs are merely imaginary. 

Their naïveté is astonishing.