This??
   The  Chocolate  Chip Croissant [hereinafter refered to  as
  `c/3'] resides,  splend'drous, in state as it were, an aura
  of piquant expectancy filling the otherwise bleak landscape
  with  a  tenuous  veil  of  diffuse  rococco  blandishments
  reminscent  of a bygone Dali.  Ruffling through  the  Power
  Grass,  bleating  Vaughn  Williams anthems to  Itself,  The
  Sinuoid wreathes obliquely betwixt the ant-eaten AM-PM Mini
  Market  soft-serve ice cream cone and the  nether  buttress
  upon seven of the like to which, the C/3 expresses inertia.
  To  nothing in Particular,  a Voice as a flocculent  zephyr
  rises  like  heat on a New Mexico  highway,  mingling  with
  distorted   gospel  cassettes  and  the  plaintive  honking
  burbles  of  Carlos "Spit-Key"  Ayrton-Plinth,  baring  the
  naked   soul  of  his  Selmer  alto  saxophone   upon   the
  discriminate ear of the desert floor. "Spuck" It says.

The Internet is a wonderful place.   Don't know about the
poetry, though.


If that's it, I have a request of my own.


At 10:37 PM 10/1/01 -0500, you wrote:
>I'm looking for a copy of a little computer "poem" from the early-mid 80's
>It was some sort of AI experiment.
>
>It starts like this:
>
>Night and a dark moon.
>Festoons
>
>The Chocolate Chip Croissant, (hereinafter referred to as C3)...
>
>
>That's all I remember
>It's a cult-thing :)
>--
>Dave's Engineering Page: http://www.dvanhorn.org
>

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