Pacific Specific (HS 120)

When they come, it’s a surprise cook up somewhere
plunked potluck between here and — that I
don’t really know free range, these faceless ones,
not from around these parts, but always welcome
for their show, needs me, to tell not a yolk too runny,
a yolk too hard, these just right able albumen from darkness,
cracked open cacklers, splayed on friendly she fire,
their pondered poaching up to bubbly blister point,
when I can’t sleep, chicken seer, they help me read through
my borrowed rough drafts, used to my plots, old world orders,
prompt commands to write now, huli, let’s, right then
they’re done to perfection, smoke they rise, waft me too,
sole inventor of my what, the profound is so obvious,
I get to guess all my new moves from – there.

* huli: to turn, to reverse; to look for, to search.

* * * * *

Today’s prompt is


Use it to inspire a piece of writing and then post that piece as a comment below. I would love to read it : )

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