the aftermath of a rejection letter

by on December 17, 2018 :: 1 comment

no gold in the air
stahl’s world of
perpetual darkness.
no fields of dreams
in my backyard today.
I’m a gunshot wound
to the head, a blues song
bleeding from broken
finger tips. I’m a
bukowski man instead
of some others.
…some of the others
with cheerier news.
no funny jokes like:
after math is English.
aftermath is only sorrow.

editors note:

Sorrow is how some sums add up. Gotta do your own math… – mh clay

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