American Letters Unsent

Nate, old buddy:

Why so gloomy? You might want to get out of that
custom-house more often. You do imagine such
moments of strange and weird beauty there.
What wouldn't I give to live in your world, with signifiers
painted across the skies, where even a letter is never explained.

Your Mischievious Sprite

Dear Charlie,

Why for the love of God yellow?
Did you ever get out?

Conspiritorally,
Violet

Edgar darling,

Was it rabies? Or drink? Or syphillis?
Inquiring minds want to know. Still.
Hope you enjoy the cognac.

Incorruptably yours,
Julietta Ermengarde Nicolette of
Nice and Ypres.

Dear Ayn,

You are fucking batshit crazy.
Go take an economics class.

from the ICU after a severe beating by a single idea--
batteredly yours,
Me (I learned that much.)

Dear Mark (or is it Sam these days?), Chuck, Dave E, and Mark Z. Danny,

How's that working out for you, being clever?

Superficially yours,
The World

Dear Mr. Impaler--

Gee, can you always count on a murderer for a fancy prose style?
Do you look at what the critics say and just laugh and laugh
and say "you know, in the end, it's just a book?"
You like watching us struggle, don't you.

Yours at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight,
Dolly Lo

Oh My Dear Walt:

If there is a phrase in all of writing more apt than your
"it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven"
I never want to read it.

I want to die with that as my peak of meaning.

Clear skies,
your daughter.

Dear Sylvia, Anne, Ernie, and others,

I hope it helped.