For fifty years, the man ate eggs.
Not one a day, sunny-side-up, or ten,
but eighty each morning, raw.

This takes a discipline few have.

Elsewhere, an Irishman yodeled for ten hours straight,
a New Yorker with thirty-one million in the bank
owned 1 dress and ate her porridge cold.

He was 7 feet, she was 8.
They wed in the shade of a large oak.
Across the world, a man wrote

letter after letter, envelope after envelope,
until two letters shy of four thousand
his pen ran dry.

How does anyone have the courage to lie down at night?

While we sleep, somebody dreams
the world's longest recorded dream;
while we snore or lie awake,

lips meet
underwater in breathless kisses,
a man cracks jokes

to himself, hour after
hour, plates spin
on the ends of sticks,

thread passed
through the eye of a needle
thirteen thousand times.