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In this enormous room
photos of the dead and the dying
brighten the walls.
Maybe it’s the glass frames.
Without names, without dates,
there is no telling which is which
or who’s who.
Within this population
there are the ebullient ones,
fiery spirits who cover the planet,
spread the word through their neighborhoods,
juicy news to keep the blood up.
The dying practice from the start;
their last breaths copy their first,
while the dead, framed as they are,
handsome for ever,
compose the room.