One of my short stories was rejected. On the Fourth of July (which was awful in its own right). I wallowed in my woe-is-mes for a while before throwing back a Jack and shaking off the dirt. That’s that. Now it’s forward again.
Anyway, here’s a poem from Aug. 2011
Made for Nomads
And now I’m a wasteland:
a landscape of sparse vegetation
and temporary fires
for the world to pass by
and forget I was,