Cogito ergo sum

If I died, nothing would happen.

The radio would still be there, 

that yard with its sun
 

and the old bench.

My body sinking

in the tedious matter.


I am a thinking thing.

I think, therefore I am,

only one insipid object

perceiving his own presence.


Disappear is not an importan event

anymore for the things,

why should it be for me?
 
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