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Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Song of 81 Poems, XIX




" . . . over that red smoke, Amen."
No better way is upon her.
 . . . Lie to us in peace.
I must see your sweet problems,
 . . . spared delight which laughs more.
Patience observe and balance every picture.

Above thought, I’m old.
I see and lick a grand river!
 . . . Her brother won't lose his grip.

Your giddy impression influences every rigid form.
Kiss it always.
 . . . a deep paragon turned round.
Relate to me, how a dirty canvas comes.
 . . . I have him fast,
I feel a subject - you.

Important discovery, did our mind paint an opportunity?
 . . . Many who choose, don’t impress.
I am mostly which sculpts,
After cunning delight,
 . . . thought will appears pregnant, of that I'm sure.
Do soft manic canvases about fresh life.

Make an electric picture.
Models want luscious delusions.
 . . . Walk my favorite! Have soft clever respect.
You finger a good society.
Always meant a serious heart,
 . . . how to sculpt a glorious smear.

Two. Cuddle and never use pride.
Forever observe our grand space.
 . . . Act crazy, trotting through his sculpture.
Mister please, have harmony!
That clean fun when found, blocks totally.
 . . . Show my sculpture, and green water.
Use delight, mellifluous talk on dating.
 . . . Already he means an enormous break.
Couplets here speak out.

Buddy, I want hot beer.
 . . . Get out!
We present our time outs, an awesome wild pain.
Glitter, shimmer, some laugh, and care.
Why complain?
 . . . Stop to see guilt, only whose is it?
Serious art throws a laughing solution.
The peace which I open,
 . . . sculpts dirty Death.

'Tis you little Sister, Breathe sweetly."
Poster of my studio's raging dreams.
 . . . Not many have love.
We cleaned our dust there,
before my bovine smoke party.
 . . . Seek your last thought in Beauty.
Heal, have control over us.
We believe still in sky, in a dark chocolate howl.
 . . . Way hot, full-assed, dark, soft cooking.

Write how to improve, almost, as only can a king.
No glorious awesome electric fantasy,
 . . . Love me in the original,
Curious, from a grand hair-do.
Try and run! I'm all gone, see? I'm bold.
   Fine. If at home eat out.

 . . . Sculpt Angel,
Fill a glorious missive.
Handle fingers in scores, we smear a wasted earth.
Dazzle, imagine smoke, my art river.
She does see that last free canvas,
 . . . add up to life's star.
Smoke cunning, Husband!
‘Till, I question, I try, in my rough bitter fast,
 . . . to start a submissive life.

Show night lust denial.
I'd better be ripe,
 . . . I won't ever play or strum.
Take this perfume home.


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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