In the floor of his room there's a hole.
He lives on the edge of the hole: eats
sleeps loves and hates on the edge of the hole.
Sometimes the hole looks small to him. He hardly
sees it. There's room enough
at the hole's edge.
Sometimes the hole looks very large. He kneels
on the short edge of the hole: stares
into its depths for hours.
Sometimes he seizes books records pictures
and words: throws them into the hole
to fill it.
The hole swallows the books records pictures
an words. It remains unfilled.
Once, too, he moved into another room
and found in the floor the same hole there.
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