a poem I actually did write with JanusNode
[Here is a poem I did with JanusNode for my poetry class in Fall of 2003. I Markov-chained almost all of my angsty poems from high school and ran them through JanusNode several times in order to create a poem to fulfill our nonsense poem assignment. So, forgive the gloomy-ness and Dada.]



A clock alone, a sharp hand wanting.

Maybe
    hoping
         for wings, the
         beautiful
   part
of
  my muffled mouth
    sings.

Fingers sing
and
       turn
       my
          pen.

       I look
    at
    feet
         as
        they
 whisper by.
   
      Words.


         It is

your moment
       to
 hold
       the
 other
 
      side
        of maybe
          . You've seen.
  You
  didn't look,
  you've
        seen.

             You do
          lie
     about
  you,
   about
   everything
        no
   one
 even
   knows.
   
      I
      still
      don't
     see. You
     see them, but
    you
         don't
        see.
      I
     couldn't
    read.

     Hands down
   (and
    up
, fitting
         with
 nothing).

        What I
    didn't see, you've seen.
     You’ve
    seen just
 
            under
     the
     nothing
 (again),
          your
   momentary
         glimpse
  of
          another
   side
 of
   yourself.
          There's
  a
   cage
        in
       the answer.

      What do you
  do
    when
   you find
          out
  you've
        heard
  too little?
  We
       might
        be
           so
    crazy.
 You've
        seen.
 
      I
     didn't
       walk away
         
from us. You don't
 see, and
      won't
     do.
         That
          will
       quietly
     tick,
     a ghost of
  ticking in the sky.
  She
         
 isn't
    here,
       
 is

         
           undisturbed,
           thinking
  about
    what
    we
  did.
       Happily,
        I could see the tears
   which
     are
     
  not scars
        (to
          me). She
       hears
     me
        like music.
          You lie
      about
          your
     words
     to
          me, in
   soft,
        formless
        thoughts
      you
     think. Hands
       
   down
(and
         
    up
, fitting
  with
     feelings)
  I recollect
       the
         essence
    that
  speaks through me.

       But
    I
 still
      don't see.
 You
 think
      so
        strongly
   about my
         looking-
          glass
world
  for
       you.
      You
        read
  words
          and
   that is

          all

         you think.
   You
    could
         read
          words
     strong enough to
       touch.
                 You
     can't see.
      I
    didn't
     walk
     away
       and
     I don't hate you. I
        don't
  know who
 you
  are
      .
     She smiles at the
   
     ways
    of
        a
         web
     of
         
        minds.
  You
         think so
   strongly
    about my looking-
          glass
world
       for
      you.
     So crazy,
       a
        fortress, a shadow
    that will
        quietly tick, a
     fortress,
  a
       cage
      in
        dust and
          oil. Ignorance
 is
         beautiful. You
         look
       at your
     feet be
          cause she's crying. Crying,
       we twist
away
         
from each other
  . Patterns
 I could
          read: words.

     What
   then,
 when
          you find
       out
       you've
       heard too
    little?
          You think a
      long time,
     recollect the
  essence that speaks
          through
      you.
  I didn't
          see.
     You
       still don't
          see.
    You've
        seen. Maybe
          .

             What
         then, when
 you
   can't
   
explain?
     
      You
      could
 read
  words. She
 isn't
      here,
   
 is

           undisturbed,
           thinking about
    what
  we did.
 My
          heart

     aches
from pretending
     it
 is

       somehow
     
explicable.
      Crying,
   twist
     away
from
   each one.
      Tears are
       not scars.
     
      I stand alone
         inside.
         Some
    women
         hate
  others
 to
 think.
       I'm
         strong enough
        to
          think
       about
          my
     soul,
  so
       crazy.
  You
      see
      something
         (about what?)
         about
         me. Hands
     
   down

      (and
    up
,
        fitting with
         your
 face), I
         stand
        alone
from
     inside
        and
      see something
         about
          you. Maybe.