We all wrote a poem of 8 lines, cut it up so that each line was separated and then each picked 8 lines - at random - from a great big piles of lines. Here's what I found:

Can't see the woods, for this pile of leaves

and there are more cameras than people here;

a darkness pulled over your laughter.

He didn't remember my name next time.

What happens next?

He said it couldn't be his.

I am going to fuck up your face with love.

What?