By ozZymErplAdeRp Published 2022-06-02 12:02:34
edited computer generated poem ↓
Someone here is waiting for the next sun,
Waiting for the streamer to return
to the homeland of the humans.
Some streamers rescue their viewers from life
but this one grows your regret like weaved currents.
A viewer smiles at the streamer
but the streamer does not smile
when she looks at the iguana child
and the lonely ocean.
How little we shine and how much it returns
the funny things of this temporary station.
Which is an arcane coral of directions
million or three hundred, preserved
on an acrobat or in the dashing utensil
directions of the lip, a calculation in your mouths.
Streaming was a torrential business
of lonely roads and billows of neon smoke.