Transcription
The Novelist Portent
Johnny E. Mahaffey
November 30, 2016
The Hotel of Cells
Each cell like a capsulated hard-shell
made to contain/protect the societal gazelle.
At your every entrance, a veritable Jezebel,
not our mademoiselle but a monetary show-not-tell.
Crème caramel, Jezebel waist for sale,
with widths from which to propel
An inadvertent Orwellian cartel,
the JEZEBEL CLAMSHELLS—not a single Danielle!
Not one bombshell,
among the names of misspell.
Good grammar? Farewell,
not from these flesh-shaped tortoise shells.
Today's modern female hero personnel
set aside by each self-made villanelle
A prison-employ-Jezebel
is a thing never to unsmell.
An experience never to tell
not here, nor there, or anywhere (not even in rebel).
The hotel clientele
finding an oversold motel.
Scalpel to the eyes to get the swell
needed to exit the corral without use of any cowbell.
Each like a capsulated sequel,
tailor-made, villanelle hard-shell
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