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“Strained Noodles”
Steamed, boiled, fried,
so much internalized.
Stir the pot,
nice and hot.
Bubbling, bubbling, bubbling.
Pop, pop, pop!
Thinking thoughts, avoiding others.
Labotomy, if I had my druthers.
Vent the pot, now too hot.
Boiling over, flame kaput.
Bulb lit up, indicates,
ideas good, and full of hate.
Thinking for its own sake.
For what else?
For, what, else?
The basis of reality,
changes on what’s perceived.
Arguably?
Perhaps, aggrieved.
Since we cannot agree.
Is it beyond our reach?
My preference would be,
to be,
free.
Relieved.
Put me back in the matrix.
I’ve cooked long enough.
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