In the 1970s I wrote a — for me — non-traditional short story, which I called “The 1000 pp. Novel: 1960 – 70.” After about a dozen rejections, I put it away. (Maybe I published the first part of it as a short-short somewhere.) Recently, I started thinking of the whole thing as a poem, so I broke up the lines, removed the punctuation and… Bob’s your mother. I sent the entire work to FOM and it excised a portion for public consumption. It begins:
It was a far out bar, Max’s Drop Dead Inn
You know who drank there?
Curious readers can find out at
http://www.firstofthemonth.org/far-gone-a-levin-compaction/
So many Bob Levins on the Internet; I'm the Bob Levin who writes.