Sometimes I confuse
my brain with a heaping
pile of rose tinted
mashed potatoes

If only I weren't so
hungry all the time

I'd be fine, doused
in a fair kind of life

where everything green
on either side of the picket
line

has a fresh, polished
emerald shine

Sometimes I don't want
to wake up and do
anything,--

well except

for rubbing my eyes
till they turn
red to prevent
them from leaking.