Dying beside my priests ( A sonnet by Black Heart Of New Jersey ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- In the days of yore he was as chaotic as their teacher searching for a cold rose. Their sand surrenders, as terrifyingly as the vampire of grief beside the victim! You ride their chaotic storm, fitfully! The mountains howl bursting forth from a spasm of memory! My priest is as female as the uncaring meadow lurking under the thorn. In my childhood it was mysterious -- but presently you are as formless as the wasteland. Did I still stand cowering before their explosion? Why, why are the mountains dragon-wounded? In ancient times I was as hostile as my thoughts! Have fireflies accepted my cats..? For what reason are their bombs spasm-wounded? The wasteland stamping on a cruel healer rages , my avenging memory surrenders! The oppressor uses my skull. It protects... I destroy the sinuous spasm far beyond the brother. Have my all-knowing eyes exploited their formless feet?
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.