the second verse of the original poem went like this:
As Mr Vonnegut deduced,
we set small microbes free in juice
to drink and dive in nature’s nectar.
They poo and fart. They know no better.
Their paradise they slowly brew
into a toxic bubbling stew.
When the last one dies by suffocation
We drink the same in celebration.
We really shouldn't feel surprise
if that murky mix intoxifies;
but even bread – the “staff of life”
(beloved by every man and wife)
owes its levity in part
to the pungent gas of the microbe-fart . . .
There was more but I won’t post it here, you can see it for yourself on my Instagram
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