Tea in my car, spirits too rich to follow,
Cunning lunatic, I'll come to you,
So start your body blossoming.
Is tea art weak?
Sweet Daughter you must choose,
Discover the thread of memories.
This will reach you, for my mind is in heaven.
Imagine there, absurd passions,
influence her watery luscious memories.
Sanguine Friday is here.
Blue maid, psychedelics for a studio head,
He has no green hold her chocolate.
Who guts earth?
If to compose form,
questions are under way, more damage, oh dear.
Sanity makes a scratch part - the key is glorious women's praise.
You did dance surreal, neurotic,
Hence water lost her sanguine will,
from damaged smoke.
That animal I saw nailed me, and oh I'm sure,
will do soft manic canvas.
His model Mama comes.
Here, I'm all about bed work.
They have lost some partner.
By my work, we represent the Nile, and carve space.
Understand, the curious smear, capture space, borderline and opaque.
I am for mellifluous Death.
Have a favorite, compose the metaphor.
Stop the solutions here. Give language away.
Nikolay, no! Not a nice novella.
"Life flies after us. Women live, feel the surf, half-play."
Process when night messed up this peace.
Somehow forget this pathetic aggressive Mother.
You observe with the edge, give ideas.
Say it: "Go be afraid, love an Angel!"
Breathe, disgrace is the way out.
'Breathe. Thou didst forget my only past was endless sex."
I see a thin child.
In this I get absurd metaphors, I see questions.
A poor tune, tie'd down to a vain red-faced hypocrite.
Know harmony, flash-lit cat eyes . . .
When she confronts reality, way hot, full-assed,
almost a rainbow, about more glorious endeavors.
Young poet, try scandalous absurd color.
See that your studio, the crass solution, impresses sexual water.
Have paint creep into a fun life,
masterpieces follow intimacy.
You had better laugh, so important emptiness blocks a dark Party.
Capture surreal music, my homely sister.
They’re sharp, important,
We write, shimmer, create . . .
I damage with model dreams,
belief used her sibling to dazzle.
She made thought like days.
Song of 81 Poems: