Grown in ecliptical paddyfields' oil-slicks,
stirred into stew by the oars of the cynics,
(administered a searing cure;)
distant promethean heritage dormant,
"ten-words-for-everything" lexicon stagnant,
(slumber's gravitic allure;)
gorged on a series of random numbers,
moon washing troublesome truth to harbors,
(now that there's nowhere to moor;)
worship the sun; send concern to the black holes,
ribboned the stars 'tween incipient maypoles,
(and feed them forevermore.)
Knowledge accretes around flecks of neutronium!
(to be continued, I'm lazy)
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