The Figurehead

the Serpent plays on a spiral of his bed. black & red. turning inward. to echo love is crying. out to him by despair. but someone kind enough to swing their willingness to failure. the Extermination of balance. full as a hOwl rises over and screams mumbled with indignant deliberation. flushed away quickly. and observe the broken opening of sound. exhaled the external world. lonliness begets. the torment of starlight. two shadows yet silently. into the blackness. staring at any author is possible. look behind stars. products. open. anything else wants. to sacrifice.

the narrowing hall. you will come to enter. everywhere. on purpose. it isn’t quite death. as those. disfigured by infinity. know. the game was always asleep in heaven. the clock runs exactly backwards. like that confession ran through his wrists. exorcising itself. over and over again. every fragment of continuity.

he was probably cold. holding onto a question. the jurisdiction of fear. models of values. the weariness of a white rabbit & whatever memory chews on you. or g0d. & reduces both.

You mean nothing

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method = ngrams
corpus = tolkacz bias
generator = im3