The crumpled paper should crinkle in your hand, but it doesn't, stained with something rancid and dank.

The crumpled paper should crinkle in your hand, but it doesn't, stained with something rancid and dank.

Expired coffee, greasy condiment residue. Typewriter ink. Chemically processed wood pulp.

Read the poem again.

'...two for yes, one for no, the echo in the room / a gasp without breath / chin up, gaze fixed on the radiant tomorrow / the dead man's parade marches past and I am left behind...'

A scrawl of red ink above the typed words: 'We thank you for your submission. Unfortunately, at this time The Noscorrentes Review will not be moving forward...'

The poet got halfway through the critique, balled up the paper, and threw it in the bin behind them.

This poem isn't even that bad!

The editor clearly has a different taste in art than you.

[Put the paper away.]

You smooth out the rejected submission and stow it away.

I wonder if the Luzian prisoner had to share a cell with any of these failed poets.

Alternative wording

I wonder if Dante had to share a cell with any of these failed poets.

That cell was designed to be impenetrable -- they weren't willing to risk him mingling with the run-of-the-mill dissidents and snoopers.

Not 'up to their standards' but not bad enough to warrant an interrogation, huh?

Perhaps this poet wasn't caught snooping around, or acting suspicious.

Rejection is the right call. This is a terrible submission.

Just because you write poetry now doesn't make you an expert.

So confident in your judgement. Perhaps you should try writing a poem.

They're rejecting poets left, right, and centre.

Only the bad ones, presumably.

Ah, 'The Noscorrentes Review' again. That's the poetry magazine.

You've already confirmed that their offices are near the bin you found this in -- in the building directly behind it.

Cool. [Put the paper away.]

More confirmation that their offices are near the bin you found this in -- the building directly behind it.

'The Noscorrentes Review.' Some sort of literary magazine, maybe?

A highly discerning one, by the looks of it.

This rejected submission would imply that their offices are near the bin you found it in -- perhaps the building directly behind it.

Got it. [Put the paper away.]

A decent imitation of Cengiz Balik's style of free verse, but they could have gone harder with the adverbs.

A poem?

Someone's soul bared on the page.

XXs and smudged ink where the author struggled with a sticky key on the typewriter.

And their attempts to self-edit in real time as they wrote.

Must be something to do with the magazine office.

Wonder why they threw this out...

Is this some kind of code?

Of a fashion. It's the work of a would-be poet.

Smooth it out and read what's inside.

Only part of what's been written is legible due to the dregs of a canned coffee staining the paper.

Alternative wording

Only part of what's been written is legible due to the dregs of a can of RUMBA! staining the paper.

[Put the paper away.]