Dear Rhymin' Simon,
I send you this poem-ish bit of writing today, and I anxiously await your response, if not your approval.
As I Was Going to St. Ives
I met a man in a coffee shop. He wrote poetry and wore a leather short brimmed fedora. He spoke of his 40 years of rejections; said he didn’t care for abstraction in poetry.
I did a double take, because I thought abstraction was all there was in poetry. But, thinking more on it, I suppose I am wrong.
Another man I met was a designer; he said he knew I would like it, because it was conceptual; said he knew how I worked.
I thought he was out of his mind, but reflecting further, I see that he was right; many of my works are composed by systems.
I met a third man, an ex-high school coach; said he would have loved to have had me as a discus thrower.
This was an even more shocking notion. I always duck when the ball comes my way, I told him; I am not what you think at all.
