A Letter to Ernest Hemingway

July 1, 2016

Screw your bruised knuckles and broken bottles.
Old man, you’ve said your words are icebergs,
glimmers of elephants looming below:
but buddy, my sun is rising
the glaciers are melting
and beneath them there’s nothing
but rocks and black snow. You know
bells toll your sodden script:
write drunk, edit sober,
then edit drunk and burn the drafts.
Your short tight sentences share nothing but
so spare us the stories
of your short unhappy life.

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This article has 1 comment.

on Jul. 13 2016 at 10:25 am
theshymoon BRONZE, Co. Limerick , Other
2 articles 3 photos 3 comments
I wish I could have wrote something like this


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