Poetry CreatOR II

Created by Jeff Lewis & Erik Sincoff

with help from Darin & Thad Nicholson

Annie Oakley
Anonymous
Slowly Annie Oakley comes upon the oatmeal-like sea.
Not a berserker ever was known with such cultivaability
Rolling out, into the distance, the submarine thrusts.
The gunslinger danced like a dainty pixy, or a fragile little elf
All were in a circle of juggling heathens--taut and frantic,
"Ride!" grunts Ceres, the keeper of sharks
"Duck, you stupid cow!" cried Annie Oakley, her voice gone.
Taste my fist or my other parts, feel the pleasure as I knife you
O melancholy world, you have thrusted me again.


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esincoff _AT_ cs.stanford.edu