MAIP up your mind

Readers, I have been chosen as a MAIP finalist and now I'm in the intern pool, not sinking, not swimming, but treading carefully as I await that final phone call.

I'm not used to pools; as a child at the YMCA, Splasher the Safety Frog paid no heed to my frantic kicks the day I strayed a little too close to the deep end. But, obviously, I survived, with little-to-no brain damage, fighting my way to the edge. And though I'm now wary of amphibious mascots and water deeper than seven feet, I feel a thrill of hope in this watery uncertainty.

So thrilled in fact, that I'm drawn to spitting a rhyme:

I’m dying here,

Like d-i-e,

Not like d-y-e “Raven Black”

or “Honey Golden Wheat”

It’s d-i-e, but it’s not a game

Bones and dots aren’t to blame

For these lyrics I spin, insane.

These agencies,

Do they know me?

Can they tell

See, or smell

My mad ambition

My ad mission?

My want to start the party

and that is rocked by killer copy

It’s this height’ning anticipation,

Heart’s in psycho syncopation

Like a sonnet explication,

I fear… da feet.