Blog Title Photo

Blog Title Photo

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Song of 81 Poems, VIII

She rocks over a dark sea, observes perfection,
     after babes talk behind dim harmony.

Attached to fashion, in good pain,
      a rich sweet showed only she could fill her April.
Babe, I create our memories.
     Glory still demands an open thought.
The faithful gave sense, but never repressed freedom.
     Please imagine that itch.

Observe our harmony.
Here love doesn't understand or follow wrecked.
     This emotional sex is still down.
Sad, missing in need, or fashion, almost.
Since you are full and free,
     share in our pride-hearted system.
Never think I will manipulate.
Since from a period of art,
     glorious picture paint is stuck.

Mother's dish, the key, is glorious women's praise.
Confront a hard pithy studio, a hollow crowd strung.
     Are we agreeing that we know art!
Demands, worried your full thought,
     we chant, "Come Pan!"

Discover thought in a border line.
Sculpt him blind! Is your delight an almost better me?
     Use this.

The vintage act, yes, is down around
I can sense bed music. So reach and seek us!
     Empty your sister's howl.
     I am for mellifluous death.
Mounted, should that be too dysfunctional?
     Muses I see even.

Family affects head competitions.
     How drunk I am.
His favorite instrument is sense.
weren't they too bold to presume freedom was about water.
     May you please comfort us.
Could society, curious, only in the end, reach you?
Model, glitter man or his play,
How important cuts emulate character.
     "Marry me".
      Men beat her.

But he, one day true, but full, colored in:
"Be still emotion! Such wild worries.
     Girl, see your despair.
     Chat, dress nude, destroy.
A new feeling with one sound can communicate a story,
     relate space as rich as a body.

Play with a solution. Slather, beg!"
     Come, give me a big luscious daze!
Know every impulse, who frees my pain, scratches sense?
     Killer of life!
     Which Angel had Mother better use?

Writing breaks, faithful and deep.
     My girl would have me home.
     So we love this life
We'll pressure, write, dazzle, cook,
     But make true measure.

Oh, that freedom we give.

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

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

Search This Blog