falling sand
turning
turbines
like water
the sunny
pleasure-dome with caves of ice
promised by desert
eco-visionaries
all locusts and wild honey
captures me
sometimes as I shoot overhead
in a dirty plane, terrified that their parsimony
will join that of the
Overclass,
and leave us all
shivering in a sunless sea.
Had been reading the offending piece by Coleridge!
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