411: Spam Poetry

Once again, The Operator brings you a smidgen of poetic grandeur, cobbled together from the subject lines of spam from our email. By this point, we're pretty sure aliens are trying to communicate with us from the vastness of space. Tinfoil hats on!

Did you decide?
Wanna change ur habits?
Nor or later, up to you
How is life

that calculator
See?
Time is now
For Feldman my exegesis
be typhoon a washout
my roughcast it vantage
And rent by his own accord. Behold, publish and eat. Some of the word.

Or which,
In Mohammaden do velours
Her by Waffle
was a wastrel.