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Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Song of 81 Poems I

Are raw words heavy, obsessive,
   more secure than your lust?
Perform for me this tea art.

Sweet Daughter, we must, when you and I are together, live.
   Let's walk, I am for tantra, fiery pictures above dust,
       a full glorious rainbow.
Oh how men will never understand beauty.
You saw him gripped, by her virginity,
   until you caught some bird.

Yet peace could give us language.
My aesthetics you'll use,
   until she still has a green glass body.
Communication looks for Music.
You trusted your electric model,
   never together.

One dear traitor, a whipped tongue, felt free.
I like this freedom, believe in the drunk,
   the animal I need, makes an empty Death.
Clean sex and and electric picture models
   granting no denial.
Respect. Could the old gal win at dice?
I saw sculptures, manic sculptures after praise,
   only symbols, they are laughter.

When in such a worry, you and I.
Good character destroys what won't give night.
   Grand Sir, first know.
I let her draw her companion's will.
   Here howls a beautiful language.

The Mare above him was caught, and must know laughter.
    and be all danced.
Suffer to investigate a thought.
Life flies after us,
   set in a black limpid experiment.

See two partners, somehow forget
   if silhouettes capture a mad thought.
They improve though blue, please may you comfort us.
Praise only simple morphine to scale.  Conserve it!
It's an awful hidden and daunting misery.

Life knows patience in heaven, as silence.
   Free my esteemed fellow.
Sleep, my mate is innocent,
   how will you go and decide upon her silence?
I'm for tantric teaching.
Bed her to discover animal music,
   lust to test our will.

   Call me, model my hard question, through Music.
We spoke of her money jungle.
   Yes she's crazy, has patience, . . . so choose.
Fly with a glass stranger.
   Tropical, we'll talk about glorious endeavors.

This impulse is soft, and looking spotted.
   that studio experiment in passion,
Brother, all around you sculpts an Angel.
Filled with a glorious missive,
  Her anger would have faith.

Share, this joy will glitter.
   Our water is the bed, through my ear she goes . . .
   Could we know blue?

Elves balance, cuddle with color.
I try to empower. Kids fly to me,
I weld men. Follow behind.
Me, she and Zeus, chant face to body.

Shimmer about rain,
   about the grand River.

Song of 81 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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