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Friday, October 29, 2010

Part II is Lost


Why are you working hard my Muse
 . . . to shy a blue canvas?
All have fateful sunstroke,
I'm for tantric teaching.

Die, decide, I reach key observations,
I see you on Crete, a sculpture instrument.
See your sins apace,
Come in. You and I will teach her!

I see an old expert . . .  and men beat, her.
This is the crazy passion about drugs,
In this I get absurd metaphor, I see questions,
Come, observe, know, influence, imagine . . .
Better I seek you, I was in pain, with our nervy abuse.
Scream Partner!
Happy angel breaks in one past, the life which she formed,
We clean our dust there.
It's alive, a vaginal pink masterpiece.

We ask: 'See me grow out of an agressive mind.'


with N____ K____, June 26, 2006, 57, 58, 59

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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