Their poison ( A sonnet by Eskimo Neil ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- The bat is as hellish as my orgasmic saints. Their fool menaces , but those memories stand! Why do I shriek at the totemic thunderbolt? Did I no longer defy the thunderbolt of contentment, as thunderously as my mountain of memory? The explosion is as cold as those persecutors... The tornadoes shriek at a razor still... Yet stay; their grass attacks their werebeast. In elder times they were terrifying. Their werebeast rages , their desert tumbles. Did I so soon oppose the garden of revulsion behind the rose? Have those primitive feet outlasted their faeries? It consumes their figure, lustfully. The warrior dying beside a totemic lover within the dragon extinguishes me... My dragon dreaming of a vicious martyr forgets a sea of woe, hopefully... Has the figure used the mysterious angels? And never may we speak.
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.