illusionist of foresight. be produced by the consumed damnation. cure the strangled of built soul whose polystyrene glimmer races the pulled bite. I would set you bear your plucking wind. has laughed the catch of your thing evaded. bore of this soaked name. in spite of the infinity. First maidenly and violet. Then enraptured and reflected. My farness twists in spite of the revelation of my holocaust. While the race falls. The deaths of thing beheld of my echo, my tear. My balance rejecting love, mostly bud and full. back to what it must be like to jingle. The the plucked of a gutty craft the mixture would have us bend.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
From the new poetry generator Infinite Monkeys (coming soon). For pre-alpha version look here: http://code.google.com/p/infinitemonkeys/
you can tell an ideologue by the uneven distibution of their rage
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