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A Spammer Tries Poetry

At least I think it’s supposed to be a poem…whatever it is, the bees are incoherent:

Late February, and the air’s so balmy
will come, blighting our harbingers of spring,
Traces of those deep cuts lie thickly upon
So you can watch me watch uplifted snow
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
By trees—or might see as the masonry
III. Earliest Recorded Northern Explorers: The Greeks and the Vikings
Place of absorbing snow, itself to be
To watch me watch drowned snow lift from the lake.
Dreaming time has reversed—and you,
Billows the fog, cloaks
Summer bees were saying
Some stubborn sprouts up through the stubble hay,
The road, but not far enough ahead
Swaying in unison beneath the snow,
It is as though I were at a second threshold.
Summer bees were saying
trainer flips young alligators over on their backs,
As if your human shape were what the storm

I’m not sure why the road is swaying under the snow, but as I said, the bees are incoherent.

Samuel

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#1 Comment By Pen 15 On August 2, 2007 @ 6:19 pm

I’d like to flip alligators onto their backs. Then people would think I was tough and respect me.

#2 Comment By Samuel On August 3, 2007 @ 1:27 am

Another spam poem:

Wind, sleet. The branches sway,
Glimmering of light:
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
marked with a dark stroke from the left, encroached
Across the heavens’ gray.
Centimeters—that the height of the canvas
At four, the spectators leave in pairs, off
The high whites spread over the buried earth.
Between the vertex that the far-lit gray
to try that, to hold a terrifying beast
visitors’ dugout. The osprey whose nest is atop
Dim, and die tonight?
Right, and appears from here to be overcome
Away, my songs, must we go
Still has to be intoned, as in a lonely
As it sits there like an eventual
Astonished that you have returned to go
shortcake, waffles, berries and cream
Silent patch of ultimate paint. You are