Deliver us from ourselves,
to the top of the rectangle
upright images polished to
instant refraction, seen through
the worst the world had to
offer, and triumph is in
the offing for the people
who seem themselves as
candlestick makers
while doing nothing but
talking about bootstraps
and feeding themselves
junky mental models
to be able to sleep
a little more unsound
because the senses are
what we wish would
disappear in the blur
of a fungal infarction
leading to the meth of
the mind, the zeroic
journey to the end of
space where all will be
bliss and pain because
you don't get an effect
without a just cause;
holding flags for
innocence and
wielding knifes of
contentment.
Roman Ryan 