but it isn't.
the clapboard shack
riddled by wind,
softened with moss
and mildew.
the unhinged screen door.
a shutter askew.
one crutch leaning on
a broken porch beside
a pair of outside shoes,
the chimney with its
slender flag of smoke
whipping against
the sagging roof.
there are so many clues
that you are not nowhere,
but somewhere.
a place quite familiar to you.
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