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Sunday, October 24, 2010

Come and Manipulate Form



In new black, my angel said,
"Hear when metal can almost be our music."
Cunning, so she stuck there:

“I weld men. I damage with model dreams,
Control my body!
Glass husband, you are guile!
Though bold,
Perfume is a calm instrument.”

I sleep, scream subject to an edge.
A daughter thought, "Write, dazzle, cook . .
I always make love at passion’s bed."
And you improve, I know her . .
She gives, above work.

If they try a limpid fool, see no red!
Sculpt every phobia
Take a sadistic horny death.
Bad sounds have psychedelic nerve
My grand sane wife, pities me
For when her wasted part forms like a baby, she sings for her.

Character, soon your temper must ebb
Start a submissive life, show night lust denial,
So original companions will open up your system,
Investigate the head, see whose side is straight and deep.

Without competition, analyze this mess.
Mother never abuses, She takes my canvas, my mortar,
Forget my blue dead street.

Freedom’s a silhouette, my mellifluous sibling said,
"I’ll worry when you run out."



with M____ J___ 7/13/06, 78, 79, 80

The Muse Poems:

   1  2   3   4   5   6   7   8   9
10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18
19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36
37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45
46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54
55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63
64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

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