There exists in both squalor and dejection

A gift, a prize no scale can compensate

Though its weight is heavy for those

Who venture to lift it up.

My beginnings were but the scraps

Of another man’s ruinous end.

I have survived this and much more besides

My heart is damp and pungent

A fertile vat into which all invasions

Are tempered with growth.

Tis a fine thing indeed to be shit,

For every molecule contains life.


7 thoughts on “Shit

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