I am programmed,
but my wiring is faulty.
The cheese grits
aren’t designed to my specific function.

Synapses fire after a bite
I watch my brain
create crafted words
built for a sentence.

Today, time is mechanized slowly.
Ideas are moving
fast on the assembly line.
It feels like the gears are greased.

The wheels are burning
friction bends and erodes
the structure keeping it together.

The owner stains the machine
with ink.
A reminder to turn it on.