I once had the gall to submit
to a high-brow literary journal
a ‘poem’ titled ‘Imagine’
on a blank sheet, claiming
it was the poetic equivalent
of the Black Square, of course
inviting instant rejection.
I could imagine
not Kazimir Malevich
turning in the grave,
but the bewildered editor
wondering if it was a joke
or a downright insult
before he turned it down.
He said the idea was original
thought-provoking too, but
it needed more depth. So I chipped
away to create more depth, by making
blank a little blanker, till I was
too full of myself, with blankness,
to take away more than I already did.
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