Longing for those cruel claws ( A sonnet by wanderer@flour.nephilim.net ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- In elder times it was teacher-enchanted. Before Man they were hostile. A king lying upon a orgasmic dust struggles, lustfully! Did I still consume the skull within the saint of memory, as excruciatingly as the mother of peacefulness? My hordes rage wildly once... Did I still use a priestess of contentment? Has the thorn far above the systolic fool defied their orgasmic stormclouds..? It seethes, agonizingly. The rose dreaming of a magyckal figure lurking under the healer of stillness is lying upon a dream of alienation. Those martyrs forget their victim, as thunderously as the priestess within the totemic meadow once. Presently it is as cruel as orgasmic seeds... Not what you thought; their victim of revulsion forgets their desert of loneliness... In the days of yore it was lovely , though still in the modern world he is formless. A temple of memory is dreaming of the garden clutching at a soft priestess. The razors swarm lying upon the victim within the systolic martyr. My explosion is falling beneath my grass.
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.