Wednesday, December 23, 2020

Song of 81 Poems - LVI




A mail-in ballot.

Passion manipulates sleep and time.
Peace worries, investigations reversed.
     only emotions, ideas to handle character.
Times improve through blue.

Some say, "Miss, I'm about the studio."
Praise simple morphine to scale.
Mad chocolate for vintage beer.
    Man can you hide perfume!

Glory owes you money.
"Good boy, confront thy wench!"
A sure marvel, emotional electricity . . . or his play.

Go experiment like a bird!
Hold to their silent energy, see a thin child.
    We asked, "To see me grow out of mind."
I never said you are dead,
Let's bury this over animal music.
     What I mean is, you investigate with sound.

Impulsive trouble, romances risking progress.
On blue bold harmony, under milky soft sounds
      try a good society girl, all drunk.
Rosy, I feel your absurd sex 
      communicates a story.
She makes you kiss that freedom.

Nude boy, buy the tinker a hollow piece.
A cunning neurotic televises ersatz joy.
     to all this bareness, icons are less obtuse.
The made-up masterpiece comes to life,
    capture tests disorder.

Smoke calls, that sacred cat almost howls.
Monster-time pays cleverly, to investigate the head.

A saucy psychedelic crowd . . .
    Dressed every idea, with sugar.



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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