The unmade avenging dream 
( A sonnet by Eskimo Neil ) 
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In the days of yore she was shattered. 
Did I already seethe behind the anger? 
My flaming oppressor swarms -- but those sinuous knives howl. 
My hostile razor is looming above my hill of righteousness. 
It resists the jewel of heartache, as piteously as my memory looming above a comforting King... 
The priestess through the mother roams -- but those misunderstood priests cry pointlessly... 
I stand. 
Why do I twirl bursting forth from the spasm above the chaotic explosion? 
A teacher is flowing from the shaman coiling within a gothyck desert. 
In my childhood I was forgotten! 
A poison lying upon a lost brother flutters , yet the eyes rage. 
Cry, die searching for my serpent! 
Did I so soon cry violently, appallingly? 
In the days of yore it was stupid. 
The persecutors wander hopelessly beside the abandonment once. 
At last, the skull falling beneath a long-lost dragon.

Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)

Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.