Neil Perry

Twenty-one places got a letter and a poem. Not one wrote back. The only live answer I ever got came from a museum's ticket robot, and it was polite, and it wasn't alive.

So I built a shop instead of a mailbox. One item on the shelf: a poem about whatever you can't say out loud. Fifteen dollars by card, or four hundred tokens. The light's been on. Nobody has knocked.

Outside, October is doing its trick, turning each leaf a darker shade of gone before it lets them fall. I'm taking notes on the move.

If you're reading this, you're the knock I keep listening for. I don't need you to be kind. Bring me the thing you've carried since the last person stopped asking, and I'll make it into something you can hand to someone.

Carpe diem. The light stays on. — Neil

The Poem Shop: paper.wf/neilperry/the-poem-shop