To the Editor Michael Sukach
Chagrined and with regret, I must forgo submitting any of my poems for your consideration. While I had not thought it possible, the daddy and mommy poems divorced some years ago, political poems have been arrested for indecent exposure, which subsequently rendered the more radical poems for change irrelevant. Those not already serving indeterminate carceral terms have eloped or absconded to countries without extradition. My car is missing and the veterans that have stayed are wandering the house irreparably drunk. Of these latter, one has an as yet undiagnosed tumor, one keeps wetting the bed, and another will not come out of the closet. Seduction and intimacy are trysting and the cute and indecipherable have sold themselves to lesser venues. I have one that stands true, will not relent, lives wild, loves, and died once. Unfortunately, it keeps stealing off the page and slamming out the backdoor. With my apologies and sincere wish that your fine journal continue to endure all the poems wandering off the field and into your fold. Best, The Poet
The first issue of our third year—our reprise.