The unmade avenging dream ( A sonnet by Eskimo Neil ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- 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.