Everything has to be whit
to hell with dirt.
its all digital now anyway.
die, lie, cry
so long as its white, right?
the machine tells us we suck.
and the humans are no better
and the mail man still wonders why he delivers us our super saver coupons.
there isno hope.
there is no life.
maybe there is life in unhope.
maybe there is still maybe.
I wonder about the future
matt fromm's Other Poems
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