New York Mood
uggh.
i'd have preferred encouraging words tonight, or at least some harsh (and human) criticism. i feel like i just fed myself through a tape loop.
how to break this block i'm stuck in before midnight, when my paper is due? my love is locked in a padded Freudian cell, working on a take-home exam on German "Culture and Civilization". i'm not about to call her and ask her to come breathe life into me (though i'm sure she would do it if I gave her even the hint of a chance).
it's just me and my inadequacy tonight. christ, i sound cynical, which in turn sounds honest.
damn it Holden! where's your hat with the magic earflaps when i need it?
may my whiskey grant me wings, to fly me through this hole-in-the-wall.
not even a "dear Mr. Goodwin".
. . .
We regret that we are unable to use the enclosed material. Thank you for
giving us the opportunity to consider it.
Sincerely,
The Editors
"Bradford Goodwin"
wrote:
> Dear Poetry Editor,
>
> This is kind of a harbinger song, an inquiry into the ambiguity of
> autumn. The fact that fall is already ending makes it, for me,
> an especially interesting lament. Please consider it for
> publication in the New Yorker.
>
> Thanks for reading!
> Bradford Goodwin
> 420-B N. Summit St.
i'd have preferred encouraging words tonight, or at least some harsh (and human) criticism. i feel like i just fed myself through a tape loop.
how to break this block i'm stuck in before midnight, when my paper is due? my love is locked in a padded Freudian cell, working on a take-home exam on German "Culture and Civilization". i'm not about to call her and ask her to come breathe life into me (though i'm sure she would do it if I gave her even the hint of a chance).
it's just me and my inadequacy tonight. christ, i sound cynical, which in turn sounds honest.
damn it Holden! where's your hat with the magic earflaps when i need it?
may my whiskey grant me wings, to fly me through this hole-in-the-wall.
not even a "dear Mr. Goodwin".
. . .
We regret that we are unable to use the enclosed material. Thank you for
giving us the opportunity to consider it.
Sincerely,
The Editors
"Bradford Goodwin"
wrote:
> Dear Poetry Editor,
>
> This is kind of a harbinger song, an inquiry into the ambiguity of
> autumn. The fact that fall is already ending makes it, for me,
> an especially interesting lament. Please consider it for
> publication in the New Yorker.
>
> Thanks for reading!
> Bradford Goodwin
> 420-B N. Summit St.