NaPoWriMo 2014 #14

a photo by Phil Dawson ©

I am that moldy bread

 I punish myself

with an anger

that can be fed

 I listen on occasion

to the voices

in my head

 I reason that

I might be slick

I might be the poems

I might too be only mental

I might live in my menial clutch gardens

I might hear my security devices clicking

I might just be me

somehow taped together

with synchronicity

sometimes narrowing

the focus

of what I fatten myself up with

so as not to notice

 I’ve already devised myself

with oven simple(s)

near felonious plot lines

to keep

from always being

sick with love

EJR ©