The gate of death.
So psychotic in brilliance am I:
The bugs shall dream like fluids,
The dream was as like unto stench, yet it was not always so.
As tasty art thou, by my harmless planets
You enervate the cannon yet more calculating
In order that creative sons and special gates
The reason of beautiful speakers.
But ’tis sane, and yet some are warm,
The hotel of dream.
Feeling a sort of “ROCK hell”,
Winters are humanoid unto the solid, therefore ignore to me a wormy computer?
For in my steams I grapple
Are as a positive misunderstanding
Pull where the pains explore
This entry was posted by Wonderful Poetry on July 27, 2010 at 11:08 am, and is filed under Uncategorized. Follow any responses to this post through RSS 2.0.
You can leave a response or trackback from your own site.
Enter your email address to receive new poems by email.
Join 815 other subscribers
Wonderful Poetry Machine is a vogon poetry generator built by Gabriel Serafini, John Tamm-Buckle, Damon Wallace and Steve Wamsley.
The poetry engine was originally developed to go into a lovely iPhone app that unfortunately got cease-and-desisted by the estate of Douglas Adams. So we decided to go ahead and present it here for your amusement.
If you like this follow us on Twitter: @wonderfulpoetry & @vogonpoems