They thought that they could fix it all
with magic based on math
but in the end the numbers became
an economic epitaph.
And so the picking fields they came
as all came tumbling down,
and little boys just like Kal-El
all dig in toxic ground.
And while Kal-El is now caged, millions more just like him all over the world labor in the picking fields, digging through piles of debris in search of anything of value that might be traded for their lives and the lives of their families. Once upon a time mandolins made of ham cans could be heard at night but now even they are gone. Only the traders and those few others who live beyond the picking fields can know music.
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