Before I shifted my focus to poetry, I wrote a lot of fiction, including two novels--one in elementary school (which I no longer have a copy of) and one in high school (which I do have a copy of...somewhere). Both were horrid. Sometimes, my fiction and poetry selves crossed paths and spat at each other. This is the result of one such spitting match. You decide who, if anyone, came out the winner.
A day,
suddenly new,
is avoided through
the dedication of
Thelma and Ricardo,
the only
available saviors
who study to be
foot doctors by
day and engrave
their eyelids with
made-up languages
at night,
thus confusing
everyone and preventing
solo thought.
This, however,
does not last.
Ron E. Paisley
and his manager,
known only as
"Kevin,"
plant Frenchness,
perfectly understood,
deep in the retinas,
hence causing
clarity and,
of course,
pristine destruction.
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