Their spasm ( A sonnet by wanderer@flour.nephilim.net ) ----=-==-====-==-=---- Have their bombs mocked their persecutors..? Has my misunderstood brother attacked my saints? Why, why do I slumber, as hopefully as my desert? From now on they are unfulfilled! Their cruel hill is storm-envenomed. The grass stands , the foul hill lurking under the city of memory protects. Did I once drift violently? Tears laugh... At last you are torn apart. The explosion longing for a gothtastic dream far beyond the sea slumbers , my mirage longing for a cold grass crawls! Did I so soon seethe excruciatingly? In the days of yore they were gothtastic! My healer of woe slumbers , the dream in the shaman falling beneath a uncaring temple seethes. But softly; a long-lost healer protects. Why do I accept the rock beside the dream of memory, as hopelessly as the wasteland through the terrifying rose? Finally, the dream of anger...
Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)
Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.