Make some other commune in your studio
Follow behind hence, chanting face to body.
Naughty drunk! Soft, sad, how hard you know!
How Monstrous!
Carp us down. . .
Women done . . . dead.
Marvelous ages of mildew grows
Move! I never need some sweet reason. . .
. . . but make true measure.
Wretch! Whose free toss will blood some dust?
Delight them. Run married rascal!
Your stance sure could seek,
In some sharp dirty old woman
,
Speak out to form a young society
Daddy! Such memories confront Mama.
Stranger please blast breath, greasily drawn
Thou would live electric . . .
I'll better pair hype - I won't ever play or strum to relate.
A bird sees no phobia -
Hey! A saucy psychedelic crowd!
Mind is almost like some edge always
Let yourself try to make some nerve with will.
You'll sleep less, see bold pictures in the air!
Some memory thing will over reverse our number.
So clot feel mouth, butt, stale . .
But when despair gets you down, . . . Duh! . . way down!
Then chisel your grip!
And so start as a sculpture, and believe!
Use her sibling . . . . always dazzle!
I press, get reason
Date is risk, sweep away your wants,
Understand your sense. . . esteem them!
Most overbearing whip!
The ancient question they leave chooses to call like a finger aesthetic.
I thought, . . . . "Fool!" . . .
So class! . . . If they attach, . . . they can hate her
Commit in awe . . . some windward fool cuckold . . . .
About and through, . . . she gives life to the dish.
October 10, 2007, with Natasha Romanova, 73, 74, 74-2, 75
