Are we scratching?
Concede hope!
Take care Sir,
For scraps, see to your partner,
then our empty bowl.
We won't confront her.
Come,
you and I can't destroy, then have a parting.
Clever problems almost have captured . . .
when he sees disorder and tells us,
his favorite instrument, is sense.
Use a dormant silhouette,
show a mellifluous electric language.
Canvas will empower your subject
Observe, Find, Improve,
we will write dirty.
Is Doctor less than a friend?
Never dry smoke a companion.
Stick to every limpid loser.
A happy analyst, Mama,
gets out amid good progress.
-:-
Sleep, walk under worry,
so investigate when reverse,
Ugly emotion was idea.
In good grace, sculpt his past.
Come if serious,
how questions mount models of Job.
What dust of process languished,
since a glorious angel said,
"See, see you'll improve, you'll see soon here,
Wild boor, from my sculpture."
Crass Anger, this obsequious kid,
caught childhood delusions,
We'll trust and share like you."
Skirting anger,
grandchildren would trash when right.
Make messed up peace, a grown-up abuse.
Understand aggressive raw sound.
Only imagine a surreal film . . .
drunk killers still have want, . . .
Confront the edge of observation.
I never cared to paint men.
Eat. Fast.
Up comes my opaque sanguine sleep.
July 19, 2006, with Pareena Lin, 46, 47, 48
The Muse Poems:
