Jalapeno Hell

Peppers get even.

So hot. We sit and plot. The sun beats down on us without stop. I feel the rays with my family. We hang around waiting in silence yet screaming and waiting for our chance.

He’ll come around. He always checks on us late in the afternoon. A proud look and squeeze the best we can expect from him besides a little water.



Bringing real feelings along with messages of inspiration and imagination to life. Awakening is the symptom of my infectious condition. Poetry is my condition.

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