Sunday, January 17, 2021

Song of 81 Poems - LXVII

 


My sister gave a party, with style
She crept in, faced with breakfast,
   drew behind our son, to our grand bed, alive.

The poet problem is pure, they suffer music.
    Death felt so sweet,
    aggressive raw harmony.
Denial investigates my queen's sexy gown.
    Why complain? 

Young babe, demand obsessive sculptures, 
    open above to life.
I marvel at emotional electricity,
Plays that cramp communal thoughts,
     compose important memories.

Better I seek you in pain, nervy. and abused, 
     before my bovine smoke party.
Discover music, like stormy breath.
Be cured, cruise with underlying soul. 
     Have less trouble while we question,
     how night birds rise.

No glory in an awesome electric fantasy?
Choose a language, 
     an overbearing surreal fragment of original women.
    Stretch up the faithful. 
Give us progress. Laugh.

Storms over her city, Dresden sleeps, the last free river.

Get lost Pal, behind drunken death.
     Heaven choose, we’ll soon know.
Open that throwing metaphor!
     Use perfume as a calming instrument.

A day of risk sweeps away wants.
    Chant from water.


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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