So here's a couple of other brief poems that I wrote.
I edit a magazine called The Sixties.
Remarkable, and it never comes out.
Unique in American literature for that-- in that way.
But it's a lot of work to bring out
a magazine, especially when I write most of the prose myself.
And mainly because I can't afford really
to pay other people to do it.
And besides, I don't like the way they do it.
So anyway, so the result is that you
get lots of poems in the mail.
And I send the poems back about one day a month or so.
It's the most marvelous day of the month
because you have no idea the strange things that people
put into poems and send you from all parts of the country.
So I've had an incredible array of visitors.
Anyway, but it happens that you get in a lot of correspondences
that you don't answer.
And I saw all sorts of unanswered letters lying around
one day and got depressed, and I wrote this little poem,
"Unanswered Letter."
"Strips of August sun come in through shutters.
Baskets of unanswered letters lie on chair.
Some foolish man must live here."