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Thursday, February 3, 2011

Song of 81 Poems, VII





Seated twins gayly drink chocolate tea.
    you muddled him, since you are full and free,
Have some more aggressive cunning,
    How we rotted there, chose age as sin.
Feel memory, a fool's accustomed,
    To save his strength.

In front, the ennui of my verbose experiment,
    is an important opportunity about your sister.
Music will never know damage.
Your education in Death
    created a psychedelic husband around her,
Know fast.
    and esteem your favorite Moon sister.
 
Sculpt hot and dirty, a surf rhythm,
Humility gives your notorious skirt,
    to her representations, this fun tea and all,
    a companion, though still passion
    tries our instrument work.

So let's write a wry, mean joke.
    Respect us beneath empty music.
    It balances, bold and soft.
Who needs a dish of mouth, when green?
    Impulse, hence beauty, balances, alloys it.

Please avoid grace. Bird, go out. Tell us!
Take from my milky soft and faithful passion.
    Fast, write, and draw.
    It shows in you a sad Mother.
If they reached behind, weren't they too bold with pressure?
    Graces, they think you work, about every pithy surface.

Investigate Brother!
Paint a rhythm, up, down.
    This mare above him was caught, and knows music.
Improve pithy streets,
    I'm aging as you dance with us all.
Does emailing a man says this picture rocks water unity?

When childhood pressure's up and away
When he disorders and tells us, he tried our group pressure.
    Many draw a dead thread.
    I'm about his studio,
Sad Mother, joyous, we wasted our night.

Hindustan, my arty tea, you menstruate lie and wish.

She's all he lectures. I see emotional electricity.
Mechanical bears know in all ways,
    she spun a beautiful, faithful, breath instrument.

I'm an old ex-peer, I have assets.
    So I thank you Father.
Don't give in Brother, anger can't stay.
All drunks think he follows vintage laughter.
    Don't Jealous Boy,
    Absurd sex guards us, if we destroy women.

Despairing observations, are an angry diversity.
Not good, grant her, as it is fashion, to make a bold opinion.
    Stranger, you are the smoke!
    Mom, how will the girl kiss?
We took praise, she teases sense, fasts, starts to hurt,
    Only after sin, some touch.

Society presses a full opportunity,
Communication's key to give more worth.
    A daughter thought, 'Move!'
    I never needed some sweet reason.

    She only made you kiss.


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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