December 2, 2010
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spametry
the journey lapped in autumn haze,
my heedless foot, nor longer fret for aphrodite for the green mornings to come again
over the long great years where the headlong meeting roses are planted = where thorns grow
and binding with briars, my joys & desires. what immortal hand or eye, = allen ginsburg dying can a mother sit and hear, mormon tabernacles washed away like barnacles = ah weep not little voice, thou
the journey lapped in autumn haze.
Comments (2)
ha. throw Blake in and ya got me hooked.
@throughthinking -
Ferlinghetti, Blake, Harte, ...
it's by far the best piece of spam i've ever encountered so far. i wonder about the computer that generates these quasi-poems....taking the great works and remixing them, like a some kind of gliterati Dj.