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Subterranean mop and tiles.
A friend once mentioned
how fussy I was about
keeping my tiles clean,
it bothered me
because
it was in excess of a norm.
a bit obsessive compulsive,
we chuckled.
(I’m sure she meant annoying but she’s too kind)
still every time
I wipe reappearing dirty traces,
in contemplation
the movement and hygienic swishes,
stirs cavernous things
inside me,
an unspoken analogy
of muddy terracotta.
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