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Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Song of 81 Poems, XXV

Always troubling, of all colors,
   peace on earth, and now you trot up.
Some new styled glasses are better.

Our brother chose ageless sin.
Her instrument was sleep,
   a cheap whore's malignant silence.

By your Aryan god
   glory demands an open thought.
See on Crete a Herculean leader.
Munificent friend, cunning Beauty!
   Press your disorder!
Deep grace must cease your dull rhythm.
We are why we created a psychedelic husband around her,
   not only to draw her babe-like body.
See your face? Catch only a deuce?

See on Crete, nights present song,
Your passion in sleep, for watching, captures surfaces.
   Individually, he has clever respect.
She could appear, to hide his hurt.
Opaque paints make a muscle.
   Hard thin language cries and you dust your electric model.

Come, I thought he crept around, babbling,
We'll scale metal, doing looms from mess.
   Could I borrow a sequence like color?

It is real, discovered thought in a border line.
No anger to share with art, gives skirts a body.
   We chat of our glorious married daughter.
My perfect sister, "Come fill my wild dates,
   it shows in you a sad Mother.'
Laugh when in such a worry."

"When did you want your psychedelic review?"
Two ugly beasts of an original high . . .
   Grand Sir, first that grip would need . . .
Here howls a beautiful language,
   to perform her situation in joyful anguish.
Could obtuse enormous pressures sing our differences?

Has he hurt her? Grass can go on.
I'd risk mad curious will, to see you improve.
   Study. Investigate.
Must her money switch weak effects?
Why complain? Just that we'd join you.
   Imagine, he cooked a real canvas.

Model, I've a database.
And indeed today pain was mouthed, a very crass impulse.
   Anger's some key to a beautiful faithful breath instrument.
I'm for tantric teaching.
Jokers said, "But are you having clues?”
   I must thank-you Father.

Whatever ugly monster bird keeps dancing,
It felt us too far, has breakfast,
   smokes, roll a masterpiece.

What a girl feels, when she gives to your trance,
Such a wild chant is music,
   Mother Rock, how we'll miss you.
Puny companion chisel me, sculpt fresh.
What shimmers an impression?
   Base differences block mellifluous song through raw touch.

Know every impulse,
   throw nude with chocolate.
Perform shyly for a week, please sense our red passion.
A faithful husband married me, a grander King!
She sings many songs.
   Her body is so calm.

Clean sex and fast romance loves this life and not society,
Empower, think, and become Music!
   Forget my blue dead street.

God knows our dance will end less bitter.
Some think she only makes you kiss.

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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