The Porridge of My Own Thoughts

The porridge of my own thoughts — I tracked it and was horrified. Like muesli gone sour. Hunger drove me… and came back. The layer of mold with a spoon I scraped off with care. The strong smell and the gnats send me back again. Not much to look at, for sure, but inside, under the hood, lying low, insidiously, experience hides its head. Without a second thought. Calmly. While the burner's still glowing I dumped into the trash the porridge along with the plate. Emptied out, but clean, and ready for something else, the porridge of my own thoughts I'll leave to someone else.