Day 2: my veins are now vines. There’s been another security breech in which my capillaries have shed like snakes and are now webbed rhizomes. It had, all along, been a conspiracy of spores. My wrists suddenly shone green while I wrote, photosynthesizing at 3pm. A hand jerked to my head to check if there were leaves and there weren’t; I breathed and let my vascular neurons pollinate, microscopic blossoms bursting with every fired synapse behind my eyes. The vines filling up my casing stopped. But, at that point, I found I wanted them to burst from under my fingernails and take up the pen for me; they never did. Nor did the bees stick-and-poke words on the wall or my skin yesterday to help me decipher any code.