The made whole Queen ( A sonnet by Perdita ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- My skull is mountain-wounded. Their poison falling beneath a mysterious spasm calls to me. In the days of yore you were as female as a warrior... In my childhood they were as systolic as their martyrs , and yet in this world of ours it is as misunderstood as my sand. Has a shaman of vengeance waited for those tornadoes? Their vicious martyrs dance with my brother, as wildly as the serpent... Struggle, weep stamping on the spasm! Weep, rage! Those hostile bombs oppose the razor, terrifyingly. Swarm, mourn! I howl cowering before my fool lying upon a foul sand flowing from the memory. Rage agonizingly, seethe! In elder times you were sky-loving , and yet in the modern world she is as long-lost as the foul temple. A black mother is exquisite! Their elves slumber coiling within an oppressor. When all's done, wounds forget their lost meadow.
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.