Fantasy Feature No. 15

You will always be understood. Every crisp you say is perfectly crispy. For instance, your theory of quatrains. Because you get quatrains. Quatrains are the result of what happens if there were more than two sexes. Really, what if there were more choices, more than two genders. Couplets aren't enough for you, for the workplace, for generators, for car seats. What if sexual differentiation were a more complicated thing and two created a third, a new third. This third wouldn't be sing-songy nor set to any sort of marching tune. It would not smell like the 16th Century. Three, eh? Yawning with gleeking. The species isn't yet complete. You can't have a utopia with three. Factions are far too lonely. Your three lines squeeze out yet another sex and when someone reads your poem written in quatrains, they have been rubbed with new genitalia. They have been covered with a new kind of jelly that will have to be brushed and washed out later. They think will this never end. They wonder where the new loud barking is coming from. They are barking. There is no basement with spiders overhead. They think this is like a handful of California grasses, without the sneezing or the fog-lifting.