Delivery Phone

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.

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