Welp. I was trying to write a Rimas Dissolutas, but I literally misunderstood the rules for it. So this is just crappy poetry where there’s an end rhyme of all the first lines of each quatrain (and each line is 8 syllables). I just finished reading this biography of Shirley Jackson by Ruth Franklin, and this is based on an incident in the book that the author treats as “Oh, here’s a thing that happened,” and I am like “SWEET JESUS I MAY NEVER TURN OFF THE LIGHTS AGAIN.
So: I guess I could say this is a Nonce, but then I’d have to write another one.
Title: Misunderstood
WC: 67
Does Emma, who speaks of bluebirds
in the black of night, account for
the laboring heart just beneath
these faded, every-woman sheets?
At the foot of the bed, the words
that only Emma hears lilting
through the floorboards, from the throats
of phantom girls write the future.
Ink ribbons run through these absurd
typewriter silences that float
like two-part harmonies Emma,
unaccompanied, might well sing.
MTZQ Telecommuniculturates 