Per 
Unauthorized access is forbidden.
| Assigned Site | Site Director | Research Head | Assigned Task Force |
| Site-28 | Muhammad al-Younan | Anne Goodman | N/A |
Special Containment Procedures: Following original discovery by the provisional Ukranian government, SCP-XXXX has been moved from Odessa Oblast into Site-24. Following diplomatic relations between the Foundation and Ukranian government, SCP-XXXX has been brought into Foundation custody. SCP-XXXX is contained within a standard, low-level containment chamber when not under biweekly testing. As telephone signals disrupt SCP-XXXX's internal structure, cellular devices have been banned from Site-24. Material produced by SCP-XXXX is to be copied onto SCPiNET terminals for the propose of record-keeping and research. A provisional team from the Foundation literary Department had been assigned.
Description: SCP-XXXX is an unidentified mechanical construct capable of the independent creation of poetry. Poetry produced by SCP-XXXX is written in a free-verse format, eschewing traditional rhyming schemes and repetition. Literary Department analyse has determined similar trends and structure to works created through the use of Surrealist automatism- a technique in which consciousness is suppressed in favor of the unconscious mind, such as during periods of rest.
Structurally, SCP-XXXX appears to be constructed out of a number of seperate mechanical devices, such as a telegraph machine, a ticker-tape stock machine, and an early, unidentified model of printing press. Despite the significant differences between individual components, as well as an apparent lack of a power source, SCP-XXXX is able to regularly produce poetry, with production times per individual poem taking less then ten minutes time. Individual poems are printed on an unidentified material in similar comparison to paper, however it experiences significant decay when exposed to oxygen.
It is currently unknown how SCP-XXXX produces poetry, and why.
Addendum No. 1: Following SCP-XXXX's acquisition by the Foundation,
Oh, how sweet the fruit is from the Moon's sweet carcass, as if harvested from the giant maw of a bee stung beast
Mandibles dripping wet with honeysuckle
Flung away, far off things, abandoned by the old men, who had watched by the sea shore - as the beast rose to height
Devouring the remains of the flesh to the sun
As the world men watched
Eating honey in the rain.
It was the end of sorrow. The end of lies. Haggard women walked through the deserted carriages shouting, Hath! Hath the emperor laughs! How could he have laughed!
The haggard carriagewomen saw in the half-light, the shadowed corpse of the grey woman; holding her palm up toward the black landscape. Her waist is strongly canted. Her forehead is wrinkled. It looks sullen. Its half-human, half-possessed, posionedbface – mouth half-ocean – has all of the features of the emperor's gun-man, shooting black-fire
On the day, as the nursewoman flee the carriage, laughing in the ashen soot, gunpowder and foggy day-light that came down from the country. Emperors don't admire themselves alone with mirror glass. They admire their troops! The bullets! The more war they enjoy, more that is fought- the more victories they win! The more astride their monstrous formed chariots, the more glorious their trumpets, hawking a victory! Oh, for the end of sorrow- wake the emperor up, and kiss the haggard carriagewomen.
St. Mary clutches her breast, looking down at the blue azure sky, cerulean waves crashing upon her hazel eyes, golden cross, green fringes.Blue fishes, singing the soul of the Lord and god. Mary, her soul a' blaze with eggs of white
Another girl- Mildred, laying her dear, true and jest-like babes, across lost lost hair-worm's nest, singing to her
King, his soul a' lustre-reared to the altar
Floating in his swan's breast
Cried with bewailing and rambling fervour
Jesus, in his expression and name
He stands, for every eye, in every beholder,
For every face in all the world. He stands
And speaks, in eloquent eloquence
That most heavenly doctrine of peace,
That men's hearts should be moved
Says Mary, sweet of the soul
Upon the breast of Mildred rose
Bring new world
Into flesh above
Free from your jaw.
Oh, on the dreary days of blue leaves suckled by the tiger's great breasts, dropped with the soul of honeydew-laden coyote,
Only recalled to me the moving figure — the snow-blue wings, blue eyes. Here was the blades of the grass days
Let me look at the days of grassen-blue and so I can
Talk to you
Feel you
Hug you
Kiss the tiger's maw
Understand you
Cock-a crow, three times in the darkest hour
Singing our song-
As we sung, and danced and sing joy
Clouds of chlorine dioxide flood our lungs
Suffocatingly bright
But that pales in the moments we shared
Together
Right?
As I
Talks to you
Felt you
Hugged you
Kissed the tiger's maw
Understood you
Although I ask, that we could still be together, in health fair, breathing in days of grassen-blue dropped with the soul of honeydew-laden tiger's eye.
The war outside is raging and it is already lost. On to victory!
Yet you with steel guns and roses
Continue the losing fight
As if a thorn-covered beast
Stung with honey and lead
Will not come to the surface,
But still dies at night,
Like summer fires on ancient deserts
And in death, one will find the bullets
Dug out of the rosary-woman's temple
Crushed by the jaws of a great tiger in the heavens
And you will ask to fight again.
A traveler stops,
You've reached out to me
Haven't you
With the carcass of the moonlight
Falling snow into my soul
As the war rages
Across the papers, 'ruined streets of
Sarajevo',
The bomb in Myanmar
The clouds of aqauamarine haze under the disheveled roads of London
The triumphs over the war-men
To create after war
To forget and let old wounds heal
Let there be joy.
So
Join us.
Won't you
Or at least
Remember us.
