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ElevensesBlow you blasted metalBlow, you rattling contraptionYou lumpen bit of steelYou whistling, gurgling thingBlow, you steaming winds of Cathaywhere Mandarin shirtsleeves touch the floorand thin-eyed coolies load bales to fill my porcelainBlast, you caloric mix of water, earth, wind, and firestraight from the Maharaja,with elephants treading carefully between the fieldsIt is long past elevensesand I am parched with thirst.