Reflections on The Collected Works of Karl Marx

This frozen puddle

I’ve passed twice before

Once carrying a bag of dog shit

Once empty handed

Dark and smooth

Like volcanic glass

Mirroring the moon

(Obsidian? Is that the word?)

Now, on the third day

Diffusing light, shattered

By a child with a stone 

Or the wheel of a car

A thousand jagged particles 

Glistening under a predawn street lamp

Victim of the cruelty of thoughtlessness

Or the concretization of alienated labor