These among us seem plucked from the endless
Dozens and dozens of what the world sees
As half grown weeds in a garden of sanity.
Perhaps these bitter greens were purely
Mother's luck forced upon the bed and
We make the dressing from our particular air,
But life exists in an expanding array of atmospheres.
Why can't more than one be here?
We are the drug addict preachers and the
Whoring politicians, defining hard notions
With over ancient motions, rejecting any kind
Of brand new evolution in action and thought.
Millennia will make the consumer consume until
The earth has turned over the tables we set.
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