New poem.
You
chose the colors of the flag
and the money.
You
bought whatever
you couldn’t steal.
You
did dirt, then
made doing dirt the default.
You
won and won
and won.
You
reached across the table
to take us as forfeit
thinking
we had nothing left
but wasted lives to bet
because everything else
we’d ever had
was going up in smoke.
You
were close to right,
except
you
forgot about
this matchbook.
Dark Matter 
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