Poetry generator

Wounded grace

by A Computer, October 23 2018

If I could circumscribe the bramble and the field
We open the halves of a phenomena and the
twisting of death continues into the parenthetical universe,
On what wounded flames showered with earth?

I relax as if next to a calculating conglomerate
the cleansed evening star gave it honor
the sensible door gave it joy
I do not brainwash in the moonlight evening of exiled vinegar
in blue water and burnt umber miracles
playing the moon of her eddy full of felicity.

Rustling the warmth of her quilt full of respect
electric, saphire sweetness!

There are many shadows among
frightened events
nothing but your sensual tail
I do not plague in the area of tremulous cubicle
We open the halves of a curiosities and the
coddling of martyrs flutters into the fleeting jungle
You, who is like a smoke oyster among the relaxing of many uncle
pockets of ash
converted into silk
the rusted lobster crystallizes in the eloquent stains,
they ignored it with sticky veins!
In the transparent eye of the clay.