I could learn

I could learn a color language. 

Dry rhythms mounting trouble,
Drive it, play a silhouette.

Give that passion, as communication, to a studio head.
Have no greening hold me . . .
then a dark deep strengthening dream.

You guys never say, or drive past
Sculpt hot and dirty,
almost always above a sanguine picture original.
Understand why I live, or think, or choose.

Sound is ok.
Wildly aware, no "I", banal!
Go observe!
What demands a drunken angel stud?
A body can ask a girl, "won't they eschew fun?"

All were drunk, style was back up.
Health too, our Saturday affair,
understood a deep paragon.
She investigates thought about an opening.

Whisper,
So thin.
I perform related mental fixations.
Phone, fiddle, scratch, part the opaque yard.
Give your companion over to a subject.
Surface!
Catch only a deuce.

Delve!
Know that infant blue.

with Layna Roberts 5/12/06, 15, 16, 17

Part I, Part II

  The Muse Poems:

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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