Monday, December 20, 2010

I am




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:

   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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