I think of a dung beetle at work
it feels like sitting by the bed
of a dying friend and then
I realize it’s the world
how much beauty is locked up
in the hands of a few people
but does it inspire them to goodness
does it work on them at night
as they sleep shaping a new
penetration by the light
or implicate them further
in the darkness of the dream
that anyone can own a thing
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