Strength secures your last thought,
So model me, stop the lust party,
Your body blossoms through ruin.
Know and compose,
a street's electric instrument passion.
A sharp find was a mellifluous Hawaiian water bird.
Live bold, and laugh as I make impressions.
Dying knows a community sensed water,
life energy modeled blue.
Sculpt her red, as a song of anguish.
Take all, confront absurd risk.
Who thinks sweet, with a favorite movie?
The surface was almost concrete.
Aware of him, this made a mess
Share, don't throw our water, then junk wood, to think clever.
Give me your wild Kate, on your next day home.
He's the husband of an Angel,
Young babe, demand when we make deep sky.
Can I question my wife?
Who thinks, totally, how solutions
would even write on empty shards?
Or choose a straight water ritual.
Come you need caution.
I can read about her denial, for a psychedelic drug
This mare above him cares.
Yell that gut missive!
My son goes to our grand bed alive.
Arvo, as author-songwriter, became a perfect dirty rose,
An emotional aesthete,
never dry smoked a companion.
I have obdurate form.
Mom, choose the metaphor,
sounds that may please comfort us.
Trust that we'd join you, let passion become art!
"Ninety learned demands . . ."
at best, I see all you heard.
Understand why our absurd innocent wife,
won't cover the sun.
In all ways, she spun a beautiful, faithful breath instrument . . .
I was in pain, with our nervy abuse.
"Actor!" Is this how you verse of Moon?.
I must thank-you Father.
I observed suffering, dark unity,
drawn about a witch's romance.
Only you will model.
Tomorrow is on top of you, so choose.
May we present psychedelic observations?
The Grand River dresses every idea with sugar.
So a child can run, don't lead our nefarious system with chocolate.
Slather that blue.
Think, then drink nights.
Can this be right?
A tempered sexual fright chisels beauty in music.
The dirty queen sleeps with your brother.
My dark anger at night . .
goes openly with my story of her strange doctor.
Take good nerve, my homey.
To me we hold a loathe-some babbling process . . .
My grand sane wife, pities me.
"Daddy! Such memories seen from Mama!"
She chants from water.
Song of 81 Poems: