grist

on days like this
when all of my being and senses
are useless and dull, the very air
tasteless and thick
as grey porridge, and my body
and mind are lumpy, lumpen clay,
with no spark, wit,
spirit or daemon
to infect my useless mud golem
and make it walk and talk
and pretend
to be a real living creature, I offer
whatever part of me
can strike a spark in you.

so be sure to
grind me up fine, and
check for chaff – because
on days like today I feel like
that’s all there is – and crunch up
my bones well, to transform my useless grist
to good and tasty bread,
sift me, sieve me, strain me
til I’m smaller and
finer and
better.

today’s a wasted
day for me,
but I’m glad it was not so
for you. you made some nice cakes
from my coarse
corn meal.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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