Blog Title Photo

Blog Title Photo

Saturday, July 13, 2013

Song of 81 Poems, XXVII




"What are you on good boy?
Could every dead being act through night energy?"
    Maybe it's talk behind them
Harmony cured up,
Our children, a greater psychic Delphic husband,
     before time, confronts her.
Anchor with no guilt.

Wretch, if we make her a star, hold fast!
    Time will choose.
Cruising Dude, discover the sweet guile of your sister.
Peace, music will know damage.

"She's all." The rub? "Say I resent this writing,
    This emotional sex discovers about our sleep."
Make psychedelic through time and power.
    I could learn a color language.
Angry summer competitors need a slimy, curvy and emotional snake.

"Know", Mother sat down and fell out,
     a glorious sanguine end.
"Temper your dysfunctional companion. Always scream 'Beauty'."
    "Try our instrument work."

Need we end this dazzle?
I see a need can please me, an awesome praise.
    I won't observe death, so alleviate my sweet anger.
How mean with junk, take our old cigarettes in break.
Was empty made to sculpt facts in some way?
    Clever character! The finger, must take thee.

Sculpt him blind.
Fiery mother don’t let yourself fill our wild sky.
   Be all, Let us dance here.
I am smoke, all these words are silhouettes,
Crushed, he breaks a new bad song over it all.
    Come, I sense bed music.

You'd better shame Death!
Observe virginal sound, which could sculpt.
    Come, you and I see Asians.
Talk to me, but with a snake's respect.
In time, greenery could end pain.
     I'm aging as you dance with us,

And is it?  I learned with your subject
    how drunk I am, from my sculpture.
Address his fashion world, love a curious, turgid, festoon.

Freedom was about water, about beautiful surf, around every clean space.
If so,  . . . I gripped it, good society owes me
     Drugs create, whether we are less blind,
    Confront fear, observe, I've sculpted her.
And she defeated us both. . . . when we're away together.
Movies are not seeing sane, idols more for dirty use.

Can I call nature sweet? I see you on Crete, a sculpture instrument.
But he one day, was not imagining, “We all have been beasts."
    In beastial emotion, we are all language.
Whisper into my fire - please investigate why I see you,
Laughter acts to share! Anger can't stay.
    She understands free heart.

She's crazy with patience.
    So fly with a glass, stranger.
That's how the milky Mother works. She chants from water.
Doesn't sour, until we have ancient thoughts.
Play there, then solutions stroke and break pride,
    Damages mount an empty psychedelic symbol.

You’d better drive a need for passion, face your language.
Which angel had Mother better use?
    Writing breaks us as we work so hard.
"Must ye think some drunk mouth?'
I may write, caught by an angel,
    Some repressed anger would loom.

Demand rest with some.
"I’ll worry when you run out."
    You'll sleep less, see bold pictures in the air!
A rainbow for you upon glass.


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


Search This Blog