poem 14

by dog e relaford

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people sit in their lonely rooms in algorithmic gloom they do nothing all day and then rest and so they are depressed it’s a sad state of affairs they don’t even climb the stairs they wait for their phones to beep to keep from drifting off to sleep and dreaming of driving down empty roads and then their heads explode the roadside is littered with high heels but nobody stops the spinning wheels a raccoon crawls out of the woods and inspects the goods nothing to see here goodnight, my dear next poem