In which I run a poem back and forth through the Bing Translator.

five by five hundred

In the dream we agreed that
nothing had changed, everything
felt just the same, things were
as taut as we remembered, soft
in the soft places we sought
succor. But I was beginning
to surface and when I broke I grasped
that this was only my translation.

Agree that in a dream
nothing had changed, all
exactly the same view.
We were tight, soft.
We tried the soft places
you should have been. I began to,
on the surface, and when I was broke, I understood
this was just my version.

Considered a dream.
Nothing changed, all.
I had the same view of things correctly.
We are tight, soft.
I tried the soft places.
You should have been there when I started.
Surface, bankruptcy, and I.
This is just my opinion.

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