Cast not my pearls, you say, before the swine?
How, then, can these new skins take in old wine?

Machines that stamp repeated shapes of glass,
Affix their labels, all produced in mass.
Inject their spirits through unwitting heads
Into each vial, anesthetized and dead.

Anesthetized, no pain alerts the wound;
Sterilized, no foreign thoughts propound.
Cauterized, its cap seals off the flow-
Homogenized, imbibes the common brew.

Ah, now I see! Before such truths be spoken,
I must behold these brittle bottles broken!
And I myself must break, and make new wines-
This vineyard must, to live, renew its vines.

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