The Shark
Poem by Christopher Patrick Nelson // Art by Thuy Ngo

My thinking thrashes like a landed shark.
The net of medication made of holes
Gets chewed to one – and thus he jumps the ark,
Escapes by habit to the ocean's rolls.
But, after splashing, laughter's island surge
Will turn its tide, so soon, to canyons cold
In sun-forsaken sea, wriggling urge
Of nameless things to shiver him untold.
The anglermen, psychiatrists, use life
Without my tidal turmoil as their bait.
Don't fish have fins to swim around their strife?
Their hooks and barbs put food upon their plate.

            The meds can catch me, the waters are so rough,
For now, a trap, though net is not enough.