The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

sonnet 101

no one reads my writing.
no one ever reads it.
i'm the invisible writer.
no one replies to my work.
you don't reply to my work.
my work means nothing to you.
i wanted to add more about how
i've turned literature into nonsense
but i've run out of ideas as usual.
i feel like everyone else.
this won't even reach fourteen lines.


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