Inside of the Inside
the apartment and its furniture
there are quiet ones by themselves.
everything takes its place
and my reflection in the window glass
it just looks like a bug to look at.
here only the wind moves as it wants,
the rains have washed it all away,
and the dust that resists
helped time to stagnate.
before the doldrums of these hours
I carefully swept away what I was,
now I look at myself thrown in the rubble
and I don't even know
what name should i give to it
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