Old master, please model all ways.
Above, dazzle, imagine in color.
How to feel free like this.
From a silhouette song, music has joy
Water enlivens psychedelic angel paint,
Open wide, paint her electric harmony.
Canvases can live, create, write,
Balance bold and soft.
Are we the green wood that we know is hard?
I drove our son,
I had let him through at an entry blue.
Suffer raw pain, drunk, but did she make it?
Was she full?
We'd smear us, hear and after,
not about symbol rhythm.
Here, when filmed wild,
I am mostly that which sculpts.
Nudism is used.
Then compose experiments and mount,
Instruments feel and sees sculpture.
She senses the observations,
more seen by youth.
Yes, I know.
Your studio's come to capture some smoke.
Though they deal death,
Be here.
We'll descale the metal,
doing looms from mess.
Pan to my Madness:
Was an empty glass so dead?
How mean with junk,
To take our old cigarettes in break.
With RBG, 11/30/10, 25, 26, 27
The Muse Poems:
