Monday, December 21, 2020

Song of 81 Poems - XLVIII




The vintage act, yes, is down.
Around, I sense bed music. 
     So reach and seek us,
     Empty your sister's howl.

I am for mellifluous death.
     Mounted, should that be too dysfunctional?
     Muses I see even.
The family affects competition.
     How drunk I am,
     the favorite instrument is sense.

Weren't they too bold to presume freedom was about water.
     May, please comfort us.
Could society, curious in the end, reach you?
Glitter the man or his play,
      How saber cuts emulate character.
     "Marry me".

Men beat her.
But he, one day true, full colored,
     stilled emotion. 
Such wild worries, Girl, despair.
     chat, dress nude, destroy.
New feeling with sound communicates a story,
     Space as rich as a body.

When rulers think, the father's hollow crowd stings.
   Investigate how the girl bought problems.
Play with a solution. Slather, beg!
     Give me a big luscious daze!
Know who frees pain, scratches sense?
     Killer of life, 
     which Angel breaks, faithful and deep.

My girl would have me home.
     We so love this life
Pressure, write, dazzle, cook,
     But make true measure.

Oh, that freedom we give.



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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