You write a sentence that paves a street where
Verbs and nouns drive their cars over the bumpy
Gravel of the first draft
Traversing avenues that didn’t previously exist before,
a thought took this off-ramp and with it brought
an idea who had an opinion needing a ride and now the street continues
Making known the unknown map of your mind.
And before long you’re at the intersection of Lost and Found
But the words back up into a bottleneck because Found has heavy traffic
And Lost is a one-way street in the wrong direction
And some adverb sticks his head in your window asks you if you want your windshield washed,
And a large predicate is tailgating a little too close,
And you sideswipe some thoughts you had forgotten were there
So you decide to run the light.
But there are not enough words on the other side so you end up in a ditch
Unscathed because there were no verbs written there yet to hurt you
And a cop on a motorcycle appears and asks for your registration
and you tell him
I’m the writer here, sir.
He says you were writing recklessly…
You almost hit a conjunction,
And there were KIDS on that street and you say,
I wrote that street and he arrests you,
And the judge gives you a sentence that you don’t like,
So you revise it.
So that now you’ve sailed in with the next wave and
Are resting on a beach, adjectives all very tropical,
verbs wafting, minding their business,
And thirst quenched by a delicious noun.