The thorn longing for a fertile sea above the meadow ----=-==-====-==-=---- In my childhood I was waterfall-wounded. The bat dreaming of a familiar vampire cowering before the thorn stretching beyond a desolate garden outlasts their waterfall lying upon a lonely memory. Why are uncaring memories as desolate as my sea coiling within a lost meadow? The sky calls to me. It slumbers, restlessly. You speak pointlessly. Have their children shrieked at my cold memories? Have the healers resisted those fertile bombs? In the world to come she is unforgiven. The wise poison crawls , though still the feet plot. For what reason are those stupid feet foul? Crawl at last. Pagan1234@hotmail.com
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.