Their serpent 
( A sonnet by wanderer@flour.nephilim.net ) 
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The wolves mourn fitfully nevermore... 
Has the dream falling beneath a gothyck explosion within the saint of stillness reclaimed those children..? 
Now I am thunderbolt-imbued... 
I run pointlessly, hopefully. 
My martyr is priest-enchanted. 
Have those termites loved those orgasmic elves? 
Their thoughts slumber looming above the magyckal lover coiling within the bat. 
Their sand looming above a primitive vampire endures , the sand beside the desert of anger menaces... 
It surrenders, as soundlessly as a desert stretching beneath a lush garden. 
The oppressor of stillness laughs. 
Their uncaring seeds swarm hopelessly, as wildly as a shaman once! 
It menaces! 
In the days of yore she was cruel , and yet in this world of ours you are formless... 
Have those helpless snowflakes accepted fireflies? 
The abandoned dream is abandoned. 
Finally, the bat.

Original URL: jbrowse.com (has been defunct for some time)

Wayback Machine Archive. The original Ruby code can be found there as well.