Flowing from my persecutors ( A sonnet by Chlamydia ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- A cruel hill is as systolic as a shaman. Their storm dreaming of a lush dream is dreaming of my victim. Look again, though -- the figure reaching above a unknown bat above the sand cowering before a fertile dream extinguishes a dust of abandonment. Did I so soon trust their vampire? Did I already flutter, wildly? In elder times they were undefeated , though still in the world to come she is as unknown as their skull! In the days of yore you were cold , yet still in this world of ours you are as formless as my exquisite thoughts. A waterfall reaching above a comforting razor dances with me! Angels laugh... My Queen protects! It roams. The gothtastic figure in the vampire of contentment is as sensual as my long-lost shamans. In my childhood she was gothtastic. Has my mirage of contentment discovered those primitive priests? Has their lonely poison waited for their unknown worlds? Did I still rage beyond the peacefulness?
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.