Analog poem

Just for fun I printed this poem out on an 8 x 12 sheet of paper and sent it to the New Yorker Magazine in a stamped envelope. Thinking doing the unconventional would lead to something interesting. Crickets!

Imagine Being

The letter opener

At the New Yorker Magazine,

Poetry Section;

Its steel edge

Honed,

To razor sharpness,

So that it may

Slice open the

Envelopes that arrive,

By the sack full;

Daily in their dozens.

Poems!

Peons to loneliness;

Heartaches revealed;

Dreams aspired;

Dreams deferred;

Ironic pentameters;

Haikus to chew upon;

Odes, inspirational and odious;

LOVE:

Lost,

Gained,

Missed,

Lusted,

And rarely trusted.

More cats than dogs

These are the pages

the letter opener

Doth reveal;

Written in garrets,

In basements,

On trains and planes,

In bedrooms late at night,

In coffee shops,

And park benches.

On whims,

In mad dashes,

On words dragged

Stubbornly, or

Painstakingly

To the page,

By their authors.

No mere authors.

Poets!

Seeking some kernel;

Some essence;

Some raison d etre

That reveals

The human condition.

The letter opener,

Inanimate object;

Divulges all,

First in a clutter,

Then organized,

And scanned;

Some read again;

A smattering,

Discussed upon

To select

This week’s couple of gems.

The remainders to

The bins!

So much toil;

So much distillation;

So much angst;

So much courage and grit;

So much hope;

So many dreams,

All consigned to the bin

Maybe next time!

The letter opener,

Baring legible

Human fingerprints

Upon its steely surface,

Awaits!