Of oddments hoarded strings
Of sorrows plastic bags of horrors
On the one hand and
Pure geniuses on the other
We have it all figured out
In one particular way
Among numberless particular ways
We wrap our forks around it
Or we don’t we won’t
Starve or we will for want
Of our soul’s life
To live on or not be able
To bring something with us
Useful to the whole table
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