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by Matthew Rohrer
It was a basement with its own basement，
and in that basement were machines
and dusty weapons， the engines of the house；
where the floor gave way because of intense pressure
from below， and magma boiled up
through the wood-looking tiles；
where to leap to safety
broke my sister's foot；
where the animals that weren't as smart as we
were captured and admired；
where we watched in horror as the ski lift
lifted the men inexorably to death；
it was my favorite room in the house.
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