One Editor's No, Another's Cup of Joe
Into new beds I brought my smarting muse,
forsaking pad and pen I shot my best;
with antics which could cause a bomb to fuse,
my partners took what pleased, mattress-ed the rest.
I got so weary from rejection's chill,
found more acceptance with lewd lust and tastes;
I knew I'd found a sure way to fulfill,
by leaving dried successes, liquids, pastes.
My concrete poems flushed with DNA,
the sweat, the blood, the life of me once shunned;
those editors rebuking love's forte,
I got them back, left marks on bodies stunned.
Forsaking pad and pen I found new sheets,
to taint with my rejected, heartfelt sweets.