the cucumbers rise
soon they will block out the sun
scream! run for your life

subtle bubbles
we’re smiling

dense green like a forest
a collection of yellow swipes
blue scribble circles
I’m there
a fat and somehow triangular me
a haphazard brown helmet on my head
solid black ovals on my feet
my eyes are muddy dots
but I love it!
and put it in a box to look at later

everyday I write a poem
I want to start with “six”
should I be scared?

deadpan
serious
you believe me
but I’m joking

another beginning
tonight, I start
and continue

uncertainty is perhaps the cruelest curse
it plagues the mind
spurring further indecision
creeping over every crevice
‘what if?’ it whispers
‘what if?’ it says
‘what if?’ it screams
until the victim is paralyzed

exhaustion and sore muscles
the front wheel traipses the line
suddenly the handles turn
down it goes like paper floating
many moments to put out a leg
instead entanglement, carnage
a skinned knee, aching palms
and a curiously injured pinkie

all muscles relaxed
but still the tenseness
nothing less than rage
not hateful, not violent
irritable rage colors every thought
a naturally harsh tongue
drips with unnatural venom
desperately suck it in
but some of it sprays,
an unlikely cocktail
of prednisone, jet lag and stress