Song of 81 Poems - LXXXI

 

Do right protests,

    and Grace, sculpt his past.

When do you want your psychedelic review?

Symptoms of your dead father's 

    blue sculptures, were read as songs of anguish.

Sleep off the drug, 

   our fiery Mother of Heaven.

Burnt money, skirted a stillborn body,

   an almost better me.

Competition followed laughter,

      better to shame death,

An ever glorious night, so psychedelic,
      We cared to trust.

If] courage comes early,
    cramps fool the genius husband.

He'll scale metal, doing looms from mess.
   Might I borrow sequins for color?

"Laugh when in such a worry,"

I said to my son:

   "Drink, I'm trolling from above."

   "Be her man!"

   "Suffer. Try a lifelong experiment."

Together there's gold.

The dismal secret measures

     give rest to communion.

I'd better laugh, if observation is opinion.
Cry fantasy, adjudicate. 

     Chant! she would say.

As you improve you'll know her thoughts.

     "The fool's got class!"

Ink communicates best,

      affects the metaphor we all chanted.

"Oh me! I see all, yes."

Song of 81 Poems:

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64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72
73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

Song of 81 Poems - LXXX

Imagine a dark angel at night,

   how Death caught some sugar.

Fly first class, stranger.
   Tomorrow, we talk about glorious endeavors.

She had the last Demon,
   for psychedelics found in art.
Perfect sister, see if the silhouettes

         of sounds you just spoke.
Know, or understand,
    and learn inclusively, our dark Earth.

What marvelous creature on Crete,
   sculpts an instrument.
Our stand-in event was passive,
That much I'll admit.
   Try to understand.

Please, I'm in love,

Praise simple morphine to scale.
   Conserve it!

I reached for a key, 

    buried over animal music.
It means "You'll investigate with sound!"

Passive air, shows, alleviates.

Don't muscle that system, if so grip it.

Joy is about canvas,

    kisses play music, without delusion,
       metaphors of life.

Sculpt Angel,
   Fill the glorious missive.
Hands and fingers in scores, smear wasted earth.
   Dazzle and imagine smoke, my art river.

Observe, we speak of Harmony's jungle.
   She delights in anger,
      takes an offering.

No bias, just kids.

Song of 81 Poems:

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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
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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 - LXXIX

Our port mixed waste metal.

I better at last write this crass choice,

    Good fellow, is your Mom around?

She defeated us both,

    when we were away together.

Movies were not for seeing, 

    Sane idols for dirty use.

Is this how we versed of moon?

    Tossed together, monstrous scandals giggling,

To satisfy, modeled our star of strength,
    Observe we spoke of her money jungle.

Quiet, I’d rather be recording in Russian,
    Rozhdestvensky, Shalamov, 

    impulsively dress the street language of life.

Speak out now and imagine, disorder.

The better to live, love and choose a language.
     Storms affect and break a line of weed.

Health comes, raging higher,
      gives a red smear,

         before a blue party.

The man said this picture rocks.
Water unity, like a rose, made banal music,
    into surreal film.

Try a good society girl, all drunk.

    But don't jealous boy, destroy absurdity.

Drunk killers have wants . . .

Song of 81 Poems:

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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 - LXXVIII

When a girl feels, she gives in to trance.

   Such wild chanting is music,

Mother Raquel, know we'll miss you.

Which lagoon was the serpent rainbow from?

I pulled in late, 

   harmony through red and violet.

Learn to feel, try to borrow, roar.
      Will we find a way out?

What society called my storm:

The child won't let our nefarious system 

     run with chocolate.

Slather blue, then drink only at night.
     Can this be?

A tempered sexual fright chisels beauty in music.

    That dirty queen slept with your brother.

Honey, use it, the card. 

    You are tethering love.

    Experiment and compose until dusk.

She teases fish, finds sleepwalking fun, 

     fasts, starts to hurt.
Keep blue thoughts to ourselves?
Canvas is the drug to break the concrete mess.
     Investigate the choices.

Give freedom a silhouette, 

    my mellifluous sibling.
Oh, dry cunning leader,

    the pain she mouthed.

The freedom we give.

Song of 81 Poems:

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19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27
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37 38 38 40 41 42 43 44 45
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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 - LXXVII

We chat of our glorious married daughter.

Draw and howl!
     Let grace abscond the husband.

The dysfunctional knight knew,
      how process chants over an angry story.
Style, the Queen, came to show pressure,
     Found good, my solution.

Until we go, empty your bowl.
Orphan my opaque instrument,

     around every clean space.

You'll observe joy about canvas.
    How she gave my language life at home.

See on Crete your picture, 

   without a crowd above.

Not many love drugs,
     We have all been beasts.
So seek that last thought in Beauty.
     Heal, to have control over us!

Cry seriously to our chocolate king,
     More to have him cooking.
And face angry despair, until canvas rhythms

     crowd observation.

We would sit together, then work.
   Young sculptors live on,
I'll worry if emptiness blocks a dark party.

   Chisel, hence think we're free.

The Grand Master breaks the concrete mess.
Cunning palace dances face in, 

    you'll improve, I know.

Delight to learn me, soft sister.

Song of 81 Poems:

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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
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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 - LXXVI

I can't face that character,

     Theres a reason why life appears.
Implies her presence was meant to abuse.

The mail lost vapors of a palpable past,
    Love my notable nature. 

    How will you go?

Through this I get absurd metaphors.
    Amusing, I see Miss Ivy as Beauty.

To test our will, get her off my mind.
    Brother smoke, roll us a masterpiece!
Observe the mind of spirit, 

     endeavor with sheer denial.
     and forget heart questions, as your brain fights.

On Crete, our differences will appear,
    nude empty psychedelics.

I'll embolden wooden models 

    with gilt trim, to share more dance.

Sugar laughter paints, 

     afraid the self might demand,

     some sad scream, at the infant.

Yes, social repression looms, facing in.
     She gave us the work in ruins.

We talk of memories.

Song of 81 Poems:

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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 - LXXV

You missed my son, 

     and our grandfather, alive, Arvo

As author-songwriter, 

     you became a perfect dirty rose,

An emotional aesthete,
      who never dry-smoked, a companion.

I have obdurate form.
Mom chose us and Metaphor,
     sounds that comfort us.
Trusted we'd join you, let passion become art.
"Ninety learned demands our best",
    See all you heard.

Understand the absurd innocent wife,
     won't cover for the son.

In all ways, she spun a beautiful, faithful breath instrument.
     I was in pain, with our nervy abuse.
    "Actor!" 

     Is this how you verse of Moon?.

I must thank-you, Father. Suffering in the dark,

    unity drew a witch's romance.
Only today you will model,
    Tomorrow is on top of you, so choose.
    May we present psychedelic observations?

The Grand River dressed every idea with sugar.

My dark angel at night . .
     Go openly with the story of the strange doctor.
     Take good nerve, my homey, in time.

We hold the loathsome babbling process . . .
     So my sane wife, pities me.
    "Daddy! Such memories are insane!"

She chants from water.

Song of 81 Poems:

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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
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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 - LXXIV

If influence stokes your self esteem.

Look for music.
   If the finger composes, I won't cook as a double.

My favorite two-step felt the rhythm,

   Decay, snap her from that trotting fiend.
   Nudism was used. Compose experiments, then what.

Mellifluous, (sniff!), she has her period.
   The dance is off.

Energy heard a black and white rhythm.
   See how she understands the silence.

Follow me, absurd Girl,
   Draw above canvas,
Mellifluous' style the opportunity,
   to see and tell, who resented.
   a foreign dance, in heart.

Mama come here and heal with intimacy,
Grass, no denial, respect, no peeking. 

   I'm all about bed.
Heal with deep breath.

  Loser, paint this orphan.

She tempers, "How old is life now?"

"Know my life's an experiment."
   To create grandeur, beside perfect childhood.

Esteemed minds won't observe

   how pressure smothers, in a black limpid experiment.

Hence smokey laughter is so good,

   Dark despair howled famously.

How my Muse made thought like days.

Song of 81 Poems:

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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 - LXXIII

Would obtuse pressure sing of difference?

   Assure her, grass can go on.

I'd risk mad curious will to see you improve.
   Study, and investigate. 

Must harmony switch its effect?
Why complain? Just that we'd join you.
   Imagine, he cooked a real canvas.

Model of a database, indeed tomorrow,

Pain was mouthed, by crass impulse.

   Augered the key to a beautiful faithful breath instrument.
I'm for tantric teaching.

Workers said, "Are you having clues?”

   I must thank-you Father,
However ugly, the monster bird kept on dancing,
   It felt too far, had breakfast.
   Smoked, rolled a masterpiece.

Beautiful companion chisel me, sculpt fresh,
   the shimmers of an impression.
Whatever blocks mellifluous song,

    through raw touch.

Know the impulse

    To throw pots nude with chocolate.
Shy for a moment, sit down our red passion.
    As a faithful husband, marry me as a grand King!

She sings many songs,
   Her body is so calm.
Clean sex and fast romance love this life 

   Not society. Empower, I think now,

   become music!

Forget blue dead streets
    God knows your dance will end less bitter.

She only made you kiss.

Song of 81 Poems:

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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