The Upside Down Side or Life as a Clone

the smell of wild flowers
and warm musk
on top of the smell of human breath
brings every muscle to the waltz
and every hair to its feet
and then
brakes

inside the red drum beating behind the bone wall
written on a small yellow rotten piece of paper
instructed inscriptions
from a long vegetated people

computers do not question
their code
so I think the only thing left of this poem
is to ask
Are you a computer?

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