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Future Perfect or
Having Named the Company God

Tattered rags hide the passages
Cardboard walls
Soft leather for hinges
There's less noise that way
Stained snow
Bleeds under the door
The rasping
Grit of cinders and sand
On concrete
The bone clatter tink
Of frozen clothing
The only wind chime
Rats and roaches
The only wildlife

Tuberculosis and
Cholera blossom afresh
Plagues undreamed
In the future
Of the past

We'll have the population
Down to a manageable number
In no time
And under budget to boot

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