of the machine worshippers.
Bury them in salt.
Remind them with the strength
of physical fire
what man is made of.
Reach into the heart
of blackest metal.
Take back the relationship
of leaf to sun.
Let lava run over the factories.
Drape alleyways in silk
make the meat of consciousness
rage sweetly in their half lit sway.
Clear the tables
and their currency away.
Sit down with the ancients
by the flower of the new.
Build some disconnected temples
on the planes of melted sand.
Join cut wires to these raw
configurations. These instructions
never need become commands.
Let the silence stand.
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