Automatic poem. 5am, April 1, 2014. Too dark to see the paper.
A glimmer, a grimace;
Sideward bound and unafraid
Marsh movements.
Deliver me slow,
Slow as you like it.
Other bothersome tribunals,
Tributaries of boredom,
No more intercessions:
Memory dump complete.
Would the ancient birds understand their descendants' songs?
There is always pain,
Panic magic.
Too early to drive -
Skulls drip dry
In rank humour.
Screw as you like it;
Use washers to avoid issues of shake.
Develop scales;
Stale bread can still be useful;
Don't do it again, bozo!
Clean the mirrors -
Filleting time.
Always have someone to blame;
Notice all possible exits;
Be the dance.
Record yourself,
Regard yourself.
Disregard your self.
Know that the game is always skewed;
Forget regret.
If you cannot be right, be massive.
Virtue is bunk.
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