No, No, No.

No, No, No.

Another
Rejection
Letter
Came. 
Funny 
How
They’re
All
The
Same, 
Words
Pushed
Around 
In
A
Frame.
An
Arrow
Slit
Opens
Into
The
Castle,
But
Getting
In
The
Gate
Is
A
Hassle.
There
Are
Volumes
About
The
Perfect
Query,
All
Of
Which
Make
Me
Weary
With
Their
Ebullient
Form.
Requests
For
A
Fragment
Is
Often
The
Norm,
As
If
The
Begats
Were
Liable
To 
Be
The
Whole
Bible.
I lack
The
Common
Dream
Or
Taste,
It’s
All
A 
Hopeless
Waste. 
I’ve
Labored
A
Lifetime
To
Be
Decidedly
Me,
And
Convey
The
World
I see.
Editors
Exist
To
Change
And 
Rearrange
Every
Letter,
But
Will
It
Make 
It
Better
Or 
Just
Tailor 
It
To
Fit?
That’s
A
Thing
They
Can’t
Know,
So
They
Forget,
And
Sent
Out
Insincere
Regret.
But
Enough
Of 
My 
Guff.
Too 
Bad
For
Me
If 
I like
My 
Own
Stuff.