The inside of an egg shell is bland,
And nearly always done in beige's dull cousin
Neo-cubist art breaks the monotony and makes a statement--
Hip coolness with a leaven of irony.
The occupant of the egg floats in thick suspension,
Dreaming of the day when she will have
And a Louis Vuitton bag.
Then comes the sharp crack,
And a return to white.
Remember all of this the next time you sop up yolk with an edge of toast...
You slayer of dreams,
Destroyer of art,