Ten years of reading and writing poetry as my primary dedication, this month, which I had hoped to celebrate somehow, however modestly. Instead, I received two rejections in the last three days, from publishers where I thought my chances were best, leaving poems still out at two or three places total. Part of me wishes the rest of me could take the hint and leave this concrete bungalow for an actual cabin the rest of the way off the grid where I could chew my misery and ecstasy in peace, to a thousand inner pieces. Instead, for now, being all Doubt and fiddle, Pan, panic, and Vitula, Ill see if I cant find another toenote. What else can be done?—but a run first, before frustration wins every thought it tries.
Posted on: Sat, 24 Jan 2015 22:39:27 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015