Revised sonnet #206
Of ditch Im prepped to over populate
Our souls in number hundred billion strong
I cringe at civic call to copulate
In factories of flesh our peace the prong
Our cities crematoriums right or wrong
A smokescreen seals out rays of rumoured sun
The stark sky scrapers built of bone on song
The china cups of chi ironic fun
Our boats took ballast dirt of diggerland
Around the world we worked up head of beach
Our dredges burst the bars on hollow grand
At north and south to sink in ocean reach
The swamps of Europe siphoned by our mills
Till orange sand arose a feat of skills
Chorus mills plants works
