who can keep track of everything
it piles up like who can remember
what you were doing on a particular
night three years ago for instance
yet it’s in there somewhere
in one of those stinking heaps
but who will ever find it
among the scorpions and mold
buried in the unrecognizable
kitchen or stinking in the hall
all these things are treasures
that day we couldn’t throw
anything away anymore
out of pity and a deep sense
of perhaps having been
(or being about to be)
thrown away ourselves
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