granola again

white slime coats
the gravel rimmed
bowl. a kernel of
oat rides
the slope
upon a spoon.
everything not in
my stomach
is ceramic
or stewing
in gummy grooves.
i am
a writer without
a muse, this a.m.
my toes are cold;
sockless on tile.

written on 01/07/2014 by: Matt Kane