Unprecedented.
Triumphantly breezed through the New Yorker
before the postman reached the end of the block.
One article, essential,
a public health policy essay whose insights
would sway opponents
in a public debate as yet unscheduled
A poem, nonessential,
a comfort.
And to the stacks of New Yorkers
remaining undiscovered
Those lovers yet to be seduced
who must suspect the terrible truth
that my sideways glances
guilt-ridden & seeming full of compassion
hid
For I was their past great hope for salvation
between me and before the recycle bin
was a spiritual gulf
as wide as between Kierkegaard & Sartre
The editors had blessed it
on put their primateur
but I am the final editor
a duty inescapable
Ours is the love that dares not speak its name:
lost in the tradewind