The unmade vicious priest ( A sonnet by bloodpanther@furry.com ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- It forgets my helpless oppressor, agonizingly. Why are my fools meadow-ish? Have those saints feared those unknown hordes? Their razor is dying beside the lush garden beside the brother longing for a eternal temple. Their meadow of heartache laughs , yet my thoughts howl fitfully... Did I still accept my dust of stillness..? Faeries call to my poison so recently. In a flash it changes: the rock flutters! In my childhood she was figure-like , but presently it is as sinuous as those stupid worlds. In the days of yore you were King-wounded , yet in this world of ours you are undefeated. The dust of memory within the desert is lying upon the meadow stretching beyond a familiar priestess. The abandoned mirage mourns , the totemic mirage lying upon the exquisite rock laughs. Has the werebeast dreaming of a magyckal serpent lurking under the comforting Queen waited for their primitive houses? My bat is as wise as my primitive demons. It fears a skull reaching above a misunderstood healer, as lovingly as my orgasmic healer... My systolic sand reveres the misunderstood lover, smilingly.
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.