"exponentiality" poems
It is all just a little bit weird.
Seriously. Even words.
WRONG! multiplied by echo { to the power of *F(t) }
Soliloquy. There is no audience.
Imagine an empty hall. People were there once. Somebody left a ticket stub.
Dated 1984, 268 AF (after ford)
Sometime round then. They existed. Somebodies. People.
*F(t) is exponentiality
Mar 16, 2013
Mar 16, 2013 at 5:16 AM UTC