‘kind capacity

o who, human race
told anyone to start!
don’t you know anything
must come from the heart—

the seasons bend to the mend
of redeeming art,
all else is illusion,
a feeding part—

the machine-man’s machinations!
whoa—what will you compart-
mentalize and what will you always know
not to tell apart!

how it heals when it heals
and you feel you impart
upon all
the richest mart to barter your cart.

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