Despite my claims
it is Colonel Mustard
in the conservatory
with a wrench,
the poem intended
and wrote
Miss Scarlet
in the ballroom
with a candlestick.
What am I to do
but deny authorship?

Some little man
under my brain
scrawls these things,
scavenges bits
of nourishment
from my food
and waking hours,
then when I sleep
dissolves swaths of neurons
to give himself
more room to undermine
intent, purpose,

But I’ll be happy
to own it all
if it sells.

For Dverse Poets Pub Open Link Night


14 thoughts on “Ownership

  1. Your final stanza made me chuckle! We do have to wonder, sometimes though, where do the words come from? I know sometimes mine do not seem my own, but they end up on the page anyway. Peace, Linda

  2. HA! More truth to this than humor, but still made me laugh–sometimes I literally have no idea what I’m writing till it comes out of the keyboard–those little men are that good.

  3. Well, I had to laugh with the opening..all I can picture is the game clue and well sometimes I am clueless as I stare into space searching for that hook..lol..

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