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Private Dead

This is what we haven't utilized
The recognition
A foreign place
Still a perfect replica of our own.

Unconvinced we dry our shrivelingly 
wet armpits.

Here is also a tram,
a ruined inner yard, asphalt river,
tracks wedged in the firewall,
a pothole, skyscrapers,
the usual.

Back to our own we arrive as strangers.