I have it on good authority,
supposedly, that the internet
will not he the death of me.

I have my sincere doubts, and
regardless, it has turned my world
on its head more than a bit.

In high school and college
I knew that a thick envelope
was an acceptance, a thin one

a letter telling me this or that
Ivy League school had a large
number of qualified candidates.

And as a poet, a thin letter was
acceptance, thick a return
of my work to trash or recycle.

Now both worlds are driven by
computer generated emails, and
I know the computer rejecting

my work in a kindly, if grammatically
inaccurate email never understood
the subtlety of my imagery at all.