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Rejection Slips

they come like a thief
in the midafternoon
when you're away at work
the fat, mashed s.a.s.e.
always the dead giveaway

my veteran poems have
many new creases now
from fingers and paper clips
maybe a few coffee stains
scars of their 3 month
tour in the slush

every error jups up, screaming
saying "put me in another poem"
or "delete this stanza"
"omit this word" or
"didn't you see that typo?"
"what are you, blind?"

so the red pen goes to work
dancing around them.  It
either makes them better
or makes it clear that
they pretty much stunk
to begin with

still, i must be doing something
right; so far nothing
has come back to me
in a plastic biohazard bag
swimming in editor vomit.

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