CORPSE IN MY ROOM

An old machine
resting there
made of bits and pieces;
whatever happened to be spare
of water, earth and fire and air.

An old machine
connected to the mains,
switched on, is conscious of its pains.

Switched off, inert,
it does not know its ending;
lies in the dirt,
decays and rusts,
crumbles to dust,
uncomprehending.

.

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