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Laura, Toucan Editrice

Friday, May 10, 2013

The Mine Will Be Called Lilacs-In-Bloom, Burgess Needle

Bankers tell us the scar will heal.
         Pray for us, oh heavens
If the enormous pit
         Is analogous to flesh a gaping
         wound will fester for decades.
         Hear our pleas, oh God of Thunder
Gaia’s own plants will wither
         acre feet of water sucked away.
         Nothing drinkable will emerge.
         Forgive them for they know not
                  You know the rest.
Not enough earth exists to repair
         our desert’s face once scraped.
Copper ore will be ripped as if from
         nasal passages and the orange
         effluvium will run forever.
         Rent your garments. All will be ash.
Promises and more promises followed
         by rationale. Do they think us children?
         Telling us we’re creating independence.
Trust the bankers, who have no souls,
         promising domestic creations.
         Hear us great birds of prey
But, our new best friend in Asia will send great
         empty ships to gather the ore and carry
         it all back to their own smelters.
                  their own factories.
In the end, we gain desolation, poison
         and cheaper televisions.
         Visit the site.
         Curse their machines
Ultimately, we shall be rewarded with two words
Which is Chinese for Thank you.

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