Stop the Merry-Go-Round, I want to get on!

Ideas pop and sizzle in

sponge-like gray pockets of

human byte-size menus.  Words

coagulate to form eclectic

mental visions that tantalize.


Keyboard clicks with strokes

lovingly designed toward success.

Flattened wood pulp jammed

around the platen to catch the ink jet splatters.


Manila pockets of hope that

carry out the mission, like

the Pony Express of yesterday.

It suffers the Hara-kiri ritual

performed by ordinary letter openers.


It waits for the brusque editorial

attention its author has waited to

hear.  Waiting to feed the need.

Licking up comments like crumbs

that fall to the floor.


Floated towards the river of acceptance,

or resigned to slush pile ignominy.

The author waits with bated breath

and a tingly expectation, as the SASE

is gleaned from the morning mail.



Janice J. Robinson

©  November 30, 1995



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