Trying to clear the attic
Of the only box that still remains
Content more perhaps to reside in emptiness
The staircase light is growing dim
The malfunctioning control center in the corridor below
Quietly collects dust
As the methodical clinks grow ever slower
Interrupted on occasion
By the crack and whine
Of another section meeting it’s end
Soon the whole machine will go
The staircase will grow dark
The attic abandoned
The only noise
Heard within these factory walls
Will be that of
Empty
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