On a Certain Experiment
The Disposable Man was never born
He was conceived, to be grown
And apart to be taken
And to shreds torn
His heart, liver, lungs
Not his own,
For he is but the field
In which they are grown
The Disposable Man
This Prometheus modern
Who silently howels and moan
As he by a beast unhuman
Is consumed and broken
Oh who would
This undeath, unbirth shall mourn?
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