I have wasted so much trash
On the heaps of potatoes I misspelled at the county fair
Nothing is fair like a maiden in the billowing dresses of
the English countryside
Green land, victorious plunder
Steal the treasure for myself.
She carries jewels under her skirt.
So I skirt the edges of this curve-free modern world
Seeking fullness within
An imagination unbound
But slave to itself
A self-generating machine
The dynamo the industrialists hunched over desks to concoct
Is a bitter echo of alchemy
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