Bring your long-wrung doubts
to the robot at Delphii:
take a prime number
sing out your query
to the stalag-bats above
in a tone of love
incense will smoulder
and bright neon lights will flash
as tomes are re-hashed
down he'll swim amid
Poseidon's plants, lost in a
sea of abstraction
opes the masked vault
and a tentacle emerges
with the solution
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