Making this or that much of which
Finds its comfort in a long ago forgotten fact of
an act of astonishment where you, not yet complacent,
made such a beautiful sound, a moan, really,
that drove me to this feeling of sadness.
I have work to do, today
Producing ore in the shade of monuments
To change and the blood-sport of killing off
The present right as it becomes the past.
This we need as we eat our seed corn
In an effort to deny the swirling, roaring whirlpool just around
The edge-
Now coming into view.
I have work to do, today
Forging chains in advance of the coming auto da fe
When heretics, fresh from confession will finally perish
In an ordeal by fire- are they frightened?
Or are they rich?
I have work to do, today.
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