The building stands alone,
there is no explanation for it
in the middle of the desert, stretching
in every direction for barren miles.
There is a name chiseled into the stone facade,
“Building,” as if we didn’t know looking.
We’d like to turn away and travel on
but there’s this mystery of a building
without evident purpose, without reference
to anything outside itself and perhaps
never lived in. The doors are locked
and it would be a pity to break down
the doors of something so intact,
so sufficient unto itself
as to need no one, nor anything,
not even our stares, nor our thoughts
to fulfill itself, and we move on,
made to feel alone and as meaningless
as this building in the sands,
for where we are going
to complete a task, when completed,
will leave us exactly as we were before
we took it on, in a quandary
as to what to do with ourselves.
The Building
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