Why do we build big things to move
Things that we cannot move so
Men can open their insides in
Much higher places? Yet so many
Are so low beneath an artificial
Ground that we make from our
Pyramid egos, and we keep raising
It up with strings that disappear
In the thick, wet cloth air.
We don't dig because we're afraid
of the rock hard hell we know
Is already there. No deal was made;
We did this on our own and
Eden is the lowest place we can go.
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