Generador de Poesía Sestina con Restricciones

He carried the first box to the edge of the floor, set it down with a dull thud, and looked at the stacked bags he had forgotten, sealed from the summer he had paid for without opening. One year bled into the next, and he would have let it sit forever, but the rent was so high now that he had to sort it all out. So he pulled the cord on the hanging bulb, and at the far wall he saw the shape of a bicycle, would have been useful once, but the tire was flat from the years of weight pressing down on it. One crate held jars of nails, a hammer, a wrench, so he dragged it toward the light and pried the lid. So much of it was junk, he thought, and he was at the point of leaving it all, but he knew he would not get the deposit back unless he cleared it from the floor, the shelves, the hooks along the wall. One bucket held a coil of rope, a rusted lock, one bolt, a washer, a hinge, a rag. He tossed it so it landed in the trolley with a clang. Not one thing in here was worth the money he had paid at the end of every month, the standing order from his account, the automatic debit. He would have stopped it, but the notice said he would need to give a month in writing, and one form had been lost in the mail, and then from the office they sent another, and he was so tired of the whole process that he just looked at the pile of boxes and decided to begin. At the back, behind a cabinet, he found a stool, would have been fine if the leg were not split, and one drawer held a battery, a cable, a socket. From the wall he pulled a shelf, and dust came down so thick he sneezed and wiped his face with a glove. So he worked through the afternoon, the light at the door growing longer, and he did not find one thing that mattered, no letter, no key, no book, would have been enough to make the hours feel less from the ordinary. He filled the trolley, then the bin, so the floor began to show, and he swept it clean. At the end he stood in the empty space, one last look at the walls, the hooks, the oil stain, so he pulled the door down and locked it, and he would have said something, but there was nothing left from the afternoon but the ache in his back and the dust of the garage, and he walked away, and that was all.