I am for tantra,
aboard the malignant silence,
of your Aryan god.
Should my love say 'Sleep through sound?'
Wretch, if we made her star,
whose studio is a super space?
A fool's accustomed to save his strength.
April Babe, I create memories,
And I'm always here.
Are you a Lady, or do you use and understand lust?
We always did make figure art better.
She knew our morning glory,
was a mellifluous Hawaiian water bird,
gone to where the dead skulls appear.
See I would have thought,
to spare a delight which laughs
wishing life could clean our absurd time . . .
Good God, are you empty?
See if one marvelous breath will relate . . .
and guess, who understands.
with Niki Rubin, 12/20/10, 7, 8, 9
The Muse Poems:
