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Sunday, December 2, 2012

Song of 81 Poems, XXI




Help me, the more I look,
mountains I see on Crete.
     Brother, dread or learn my obsession.

Death is over me again,
I will almost know Heaven.
     Sculptures never disagree.
A nice aesthetic amuses them.
Father, please help.
    Her wasted part is glass deep.

Oh then good God, are you empty?
My mind is in heaven.
    I almost questioned the Angel's sound of home.
Painted impulsively, for a show.
Got up, then kissed. A river does need a storm.
    Our ode is a symbol, tried to take her strength.
As Water, I Am Surreal.
Waste her, so then I perform related mental fixations,
    I'm nerved at how you trod up.

Then say why marrying has trouble.
I understand you. Why hate?
    You could draw me for mad.
    Soon you'll run free.
My aesthetic game questions our money subject.
See live rules best her raging arid health.

A vile fellow around pure life.
Instruments feel and see.
    I see you're a tourist.
    Cuddle your angel, get him to know our obscure grip.
Mother is sly Peace,

Find more music, which glitters.
    Girl, buy the full sexual woman!
Use sanguine perfume to calm the crazy leader.
Come, get some party cares, perhaps you heard,
    They always show.

Who wants a dust mountain?
More pain to scale, with the edge, gives ideas.
    We jive from Love, free thought . . .

Brother we present our time-outs as an awesome wild pain.
Life is inclusive!
     The Doctor only uses color above.

Money delights start sweet.
I see childhood's best, a faithful young companion.
     And question, about that awesome studio.
Daze, then a period.
Marry please, a vintage favorite.
     You and her, stand, and be all danced.

Does emailing, even family, before it fills our banal passion,
    manipulate sleep, and time?
My peace walks under worry, so investigate when reversed.
Ugly emotion was an idea to handle a reverse character.
The times which appear, improve through blue.
     Some said, "Miss, I'm about his studio."

Praise! Only simple morphine to scale.
Mad chocolate for some some vintage beer.
    Man you can hide perfume!

The glory owes you money.
"Good boy, Confront thy wench!"
    A sure marvel, emotional electricity . . . or his play.
Go experiment like a bird!
Hold on their silent energy, see a thin child.
    We asked, "See me grow out of mind."

I never said you are dead,
We buried this over animal music.
     What I mean is, you investigate with sound.

Impulsive trouble, romance risking progress.
On very blue bold harmony, under milky soft sound,
     Try a good society girl, all drunk.
Rosy, I feel your absurd sex,
     yet our sound communicates a story.
She only makes you kiss that freedom we gave.

Nude, we'll buy the tinker a hollow piece.
A cunning neurotic on TV,
    Ersatz joy comes to all of us.
    A bare icon, the effect is less obtuse.
Diagnosis: the husband has some reach,
    so done to him, no pain.
A made-up masterpiece comes to night-time party life.
Never feel captured!
     Test with disorder!

All drugs gave him health!
     Imagine my dark anger at night.
Yell, how Death caught some sugar.
When smoke calls see that beautiful cat almost howl.
Her monstrous time can play cleverly,
    Investigate the head.

Hey, a saucy psychedelic crowd . . .
Dresses every idea, with sugar.


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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