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Thursday, October 25, 2012

Song of 81 Poems, XVI

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:

  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, XVII

Sinner, represent my Beauty.
Notice if I get those crass sounds.
     Stand by my sculpture.

Draw your companion's curious color,
    we cared about cunning trouble.
Please, I must go to where dead skulls appear.
Share my songs, write my observations.
why I will paint in empty language.
     Follow progress, heal a tree.

Sale of editions: "Muse sees all my Late Energy."
His drunken style was back up. Health too.
     He learned himself that Death, wants in.
To compose form, Mother crushed your bold friend!
When rules think, he sings a guilty space.
   Dust grew a nude-mind metaphor.
An impressionist light piece.
A shame you missed our broken secret.
     Honey, you helped about cymbal rhythms.

Hold, feel your subject, follow no hate.
     Sense must water tea.
Her old man's looking sharp.
Her smokey laugh is so good.
     Soon dark despair will laugh.
Famously, trash bad wood.
Father knows, and learns inclusive dark earth.
   It means on Friday she's so arid.
Have no smoke in manic diversity.
I can't stay around. Say ohm.
   Petitions, they avoid or give reach to insanity.
I was caught, and must know Music.
   Tend every repressed sister
Learned fellow, isn't your Mom around?
Before, "Best in Brooklyn" can categorize spirit and harmony.

Fantasy: a boy's an aggressive double,
   stuck to every limpid loser.
Do cuddle, never use pride.
My Queen's sexy gown smokes no grass.
   Whose struggles do you observe?
A sad mother?
"Look Baby, a Walkman!"
I have her city, willing.
   We measure, glorious Doctor, an ancient childhood.
All love creatures home, how I am enough?
Rainbow, this impulse is soft and looking spotted.
   Marry me.

Scream Partner.
Our poor tune, tie'd down to become a husband,
   True full colors, in bestial emotion.
Don't give in. Betroth her.
A lying solution's better than money.
   Always will a way out.
What deep society is under my storm?
Some paint a repressed peace,
    draw delusions with color.
Should the monkey have come?

Yes, your brother gets electric,
     about this as I stir.
You dress his deep street language of life.
Love my cooking, important music has grown full.
   We compose harmony by deep dance.

Worry pain, afraid of concrete shame, psychedelic passion
   Sanity at last, empowers space.
Days, open that impression.

Take her innocent degenerate thought,
For when her wasted part forms like a baby,
   she sings for a stranger.

Please bless your breath, greasily drawn.
   She found dance, and can suffer.

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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