The machine-god, staccato
Command line compulsions
Hurls from the olympus of
Consumption, mall-god mad,
So many orders some slip
Through, entering us all seduction
And rough lover, demanding
Credit card obedience and licking
The tears escaping from our
Perfection eyes, sunglass blind,
Cornflower blue, there in the
Darkness abandoned, we
Softly whisper
the song
of the last rebel angel
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