I've seen the surface of Mars. 
Red soil stripped bare, ready for plundering underneath.
Rich, lifeless, stolen from the lush green.
Destroying deep dark mystery 
With machines so strong 
yet,
they are just one in the entire technicolor dream.
Aluminum isn't even a precious metal,
but you'd never know that for the destruction,
they are willing to go to get it out. 
Soon ready to hold liquid poison to ship across the world.
This commodity fetishism hurts, truly, madly, deeply;
and yet what do I do but buy a lifetime subscription?
for shoes and ships and sealing wax, cabbages and kings. 
Read: entitlement, thanks Great Uncle.
Talking Walruses is pretty epic.
They’re beaching, these days, too, on the shores,
And doing unthinkable acts.
Metaphorical and literal visions of ownership.
It's not MY backyard, after all.