Wednesday, September 11, 2013

Song of 81 Poems, XXXIV



Who draws our emotion?
Hail, if loosened, Amen!
    I'll plead to you 
    as she stand with no camera.

She sees a street's electric instrument.
    makes it of felt. 
Run Lady, use and comprehend,
    Lust never repressed freedom.
Chanting equality, death knows some sense,
     water and life energy,
    The other Mom is a song of anguish.

Oh Fortune, you guys never said, 
    or drove past.
    Only performed.
Pathetic Parasite! I have him fast.
Should I cuddle impulsively, imagine form?
Perform praise better?
We're old since she's aware
    of him. This dust has grown.
See the killer dance,

You must know men deep,
    snap her from that trotting fiend . . .
Open wide, paint her electric harmony,
     down high, sure, a wry society above.
    Always faithful, he finds more music.

Text your women your sanguine perfume.
    Friday, the dead will howl by then.
Have soft clever respect,
Follow the absurd girl who wants a dust mountain.
They are silhouettes of sounds you just spoke.
    Discover him in other's dust.

Get how the babe's green harmony, reaches.
     Now chisel and throw, hide joy.



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 
38 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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