Poetry generator

Beginning Sordid Nostalgia


What seems simultaneous to one will not seem so to another.
It's a hearing pullulation of flames.

From uncomfortable turbulence to tornado,
hidden lights drawn by handsome channels, a
rusted energy begins to circumscribe.
I saw how momenta are showered
by the boundless ripple.

A sequence for study is the lack thereof.

A saxophone -like bomb
has the room been crystallized with mysteries?


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