Dig this Daddio:


from antennae broke who in and run amid Tangiers stores Bath
mountaintops Moloch crosscountry to looking in solitude-bench a ecstasies!
is flashing hands They now a poems, O of for the next decade, who
cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up
and were forced to open to a room full of onions and bad music, who
sat in boxes breathing in the ass by saintly the sailors, caresses


Seed me again

Thanks to Allen Ginsberg for HOWL, and Andrei Andreyevich Markov for an algorithm.