Want to roll with the dung beetles
isn't that what we already do?
Spinning one way then another
pushing our crap up-hill
hoping to make a large-pile
retire watching our bodies implode.
Turn supernova,
see a neutron star unfold.
still, without enough-mass
to create our own black hole.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem