My M.F.A. in very concrete poetry was earned in a nonresidential treatment center: a perfect submission letter

Working on perfecting your submission letters? Here's a template. "When the Sun Sets Like a Nice Salmon Mousse"
Dear Editor:

Enclosed are three of my six poems. The others appeared, like the Riddler in a Tarot deck, in South Dakota Lit, North Dakota Letters and The Dakota Fanning Review, along with its web presence, dakotafanningreview.blogspot.com.

Most recently I was a paint stripper, a male stripper and a glued strip over the lintel needing sanding. I converted Cardinal Newman to a screened deck, didn’t share feelings but created pretty good replicas, showed my body a fair time {I’ve had worse}, did the same for the Allies, flew the Atlantic, walked the Pacific, rode handrails from first to second grade, lifted shocks, made a name for myself of natural fibers which I wove into a tail fit for Mr. Ed.

Until I discovered ancient history was history I was a Cretin. I huffed puffed rice, ate it, blew a full house down, molded gold into Jigglers, told only a few close squirrels. I was the oracle at Phoenix International, the gadfly of Milwaukee. It was I who fired the shot that started a revolution in menswear, following which I mended an emperor’s new suit after he fell on the playground during Parcheesi practice. I became an armoire’s armoire and a hydraulic lift’s pump, proved a quart-sized Thermos to be center of the universe, rolled over my options, turned my coat, scared some fairies, repented, rebuked, recanted and on my deathbed spilled cracker crumbs.

I never missed Married With Children, yet found my key to the Greek citystates, yet lost the way to make work work. I spread jam on my husband, bought airspace, set up camp and tangled with a sticky web during deception practice. I alone bit a tarantella.

I served, projected, was shot from a papal canon and studied Latin in traction. When the Rapture came I ascended and when it clocked out banged my elbow. I typed “cast” many times.

My M.F.A. in very concrete poetry was earned in a nonresidential treatment center. Hope you enjoy my poems “Ode On, Baby,” “Ode In, Thor” and “Odeyoos, Amigos.” They sing like horses and disappear when the sun sets like a nice salmon mousse.

Thank you very much indebt,
Poesy Parker

"When the Sun Sets Like a Nice Salmon Mousse" is reprinted from The Future Is Happy, BlazeVOX [books], Sarah Sarai, 2009. Order from Amazon or Small Press Distribution.
* image from Old Maps Expeditions and Explorations. This one of Dante's world.