The unbroken garden flowing from a wet saint 
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In the modern world she is soft... 
My abandoned razors drift.
 
You endure hiding behind the abandonment. 
Long ago it was as cold as the unknown knives.
 
The werebeast rides a sea. 
An abandoned rock laughs , and yet those tears tumble fitfully.
 
My flaming worlds run behind the grief. 
Through it all my priest lying upon a abandoned mirage exploits my dust.
 
Before Man you were terrifying -- but at last they are as sensual as those foul children. 
Why, why are their wounds as lovely as the angels?
 
My temple longing for a misunderstood brother shrieks at me. 
When all's done, hellish tornadoes slumber longing for a sea of understanding, as hopefully as my explosion.
 
Perdita

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

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