My pattern o’ life becalmed, constrained like any bomb-halted, actuarial very-large-crude-carrier
Full of mouldering grain
Liquified with a fetid yeast of the plague era
Grains that rot to gangrene, to kerosene
Tankers full of nitrogene, helium, the sulfuric, the urea, and traffic’d pretty arab boys
For sovereign farmers, desperate for catalyst this planting season
Ureate of the masses
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