Dig this Daddio:


the fog! Moloch whose fate is a cannibal dynamo! Moloch whose
ear is a smoking tomb! Moloch whose breast is a cannibal dynamo!
Moloch whose fate is a cloud of sexless hydrogen! Angels! Crazy in
Moloch! Light streaming out of the poem of life butchered out of the
past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch
or Birmingham jazz incarnation, who drove crosscountry seventytwo
hours to find out Eternity, came


Seed me again

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