#398: Dear Editor(s)

Oh, please reject me--please! Here, take my piece
and crumple it into a paper ball,
then throw it in my face, or at the wall
and bank it in the bin. If your release

Is quick enough (I hear it's in the wrist),
you might get one more poem in the air
before the first sinks--that's pizazz, right there!
Now try a three-point shot--no, I insist!

Without some sadomasochistic streak,
a need to know my stuff's not any good,
would I send it your way? Maybe I would--
but then, God knows, my outlook might grow bleak.

So fire away! I've got sonnets to burn.
Then maybe, one day, it'll be my turn.
_