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

Song of 81 Poems - LV

This mare would avoid pain, 

    Have her character switched.

"Oh my! I see all, yes, 

    The famous line, "emotion colors a killer".

Brother, of opaque delight.
May you please comfort us,
   with your edge, give us ideas.
Stop to discover, daze love,
Be her man, I suffer,
    Rob nature's thought.

Our many companions, seen on Crete 

    appear calm, luxurious.

Joy, what marvelous creatures

   compose important memories?

Why are you working so hard my Muse?
Our stand-in event, is passive, try to understand.
    Please come, under love.
Then he said, "Depression's about bitter abuse".
   I think he followed a vintage laugh.

Don't jealous boy, destroy my new feeling.
Try a life-like vintage body,
    arranged for you both upon glass.

Reach for aesthetic cleanliness.

Were they dirty?
    Water, then is time.
Is life mean? Then color your studio.
Women storm over diversity. take their praise.

Water is the bed.
Kisses plays music, gave no delusions.
    Through my ear she goes, 

     through our metaphor of life.

Childhood is key to give more worth,
    see whose side is straight and deep.
The mind is like an edge.
It draws delusions with color,
   That have shame.

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

Song of 81 Poems - LIV

Amid good progress, sleep.

      Call for attachment at the mouth.

It's enough that power appears always as jokes,

      An awful hidden, and daunting, reserve.

Be hearted. Ink me in Sin.

      Did you forget our family's past? 

Has it ebbed from observation?

      How does patience end a clever life?

How will you go in a daze?

      Alive, a vaginal pink masterpiece,

Later you might just score.

      Notice etiquette and around it,

Test our will, call me beautiful.

      She is soft, then we seem apart.

Always we question how,

The night bird uses past childhoods

       To sleep, have him at night.

Mama's song impulsing soft perfect drugs.

Investigate peace. 

      You'll walk some. Then eat. 

If children grip society,

      empower your subject.

Learn dear daughter with grace.

Get facts and draw mad men.

      Paint creeping in from aggressive rules.

Feel the perfume behind each laugh,

   It's why she comes.

A crazy sister, her horny double,

       lifts your raging wife.

In a tedious ancient formality.

      Belief when smoke calls.

Angered, though pleasant,

      the original companion was not a bird.

      or see phobias as phoebes.

Dude, now she murmurs about rain,

      about the grand river.

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