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Tuesday, March 27, 2012

Song of 81 Poems, XIV



Weed romps, ripe sins must last best.
To stand, spot an opaque opportunity.
     Must ugly society make figure art dazzle?

On a psychotic scale here, reverse the Self,.
     Enormous experiments.
Like we cared about cunning trouble.
Shimmer hard electric Man!
     What demands a drunken angel stud?
     Model me! Stop fighting crass sounds.

A slimy, curvy and emotional snake -
Would some impulsive rigid problem affect an infant?
     Some original experiments are there.

Like kids resenting your calm body,
     we're all pleased by surreal fashion.
Talk can blind a man.
Run, angry bold father, I won't observe death,
Was she full? Speak out!
     Some shy sleep before music.

She likes your son.
Brother, marry one secret night.
     Care is above.
Our will gives skirts a still body.
     Could the old gal win at dice?

I am smoke.
With the edge give ideas.
Confront passion, and though dry,
     have the best mind show a grander passion.

The solution is negative.
A question, the more cunning,
     know opportunity from smoke.

Jive language, way after Akhmatova.
     Alas, although I am moved,
She knows her death will feel sweet like a rose.

Observe and find a foolish wife, who thinks totally.
Perform your strength, which stops communication.
     If so, I grip it.
My perfect sound is still ugly.
     Get you Sir, with their raging!
Man, I parlay all in pain.
Improve your black-headed silhouette.
As sculpture drives a chisel, so sculpt . . .
     Are you feeling better?

What marvelous creature composes.
Imagine . . . a heart sound.
     Try romance is risking progress.

Sister, investigate your wild bed with free heart.
Would a friend crush me?
     So fly with a glass stranger.
     Investigate and discover the electric nude body.
A movie's not seeing she's lost positive will.
Free dead music represents your wife.

My luscious wife asks me to experiment.
Masterpieces follow intimacy,
     it's why she comes.
Your sleep, Junky, relates wasted dreams.
Represent an ugly shard,
     demand rest with some.

Take a sadistic horny death.
Seek in some sharp dirty old woman . . .
     How my Muse will make thought like days.


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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