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8 Till the end of sunshine – stand At the Baltic’s backyard? How many little Yevgenys more For a lesson to learn? Better this melanin stigma of mine; This dark brand upon my whole self Than a lot Like little Yevgeny’s ECO-DEVILRY Into my slumber Slowly creeps a nightmare: eco-devilry Wherein these long-throats of krakens of men Swallow down to Armageddon The leafed things of this world Nightmare Wherein goodwill, like bread, Bakes into hard, crispy selfishness Down in the oven-days of this vexed sun That balances – at noontide upon my head – A zillion-degree-Celsius load of suffering What refuge then, O! poor polar pal, Would be that ice-roofed home of yours Stilted On quicksnow ? ...

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