Saturday, January 16, 2021

Song of 81 Poems - LXVI

 


Chat with our glorious married daughter.
     Imagine my instrument, the greatest curse
     pressed by pleasure.
 Yes, down and around, one bitter glorious night,
     I observed crazy acts.

Trodding, thought sculptures temper money,
Deny the psychedelic drug,
    You stay faithful.
You're a slave to a verbose pedant,
    speaking out for silhouettes.

Stand by, if and what we wanted was well-known.
   In the original movie she knew who won.
Demand rest, take this sadistic horny death,
     Seek in it some sharp dirty old woman.

We let grace abscond a husband's light.
   Imagine opaque delight.
I wanted hot beer, why were we scratching?
   It comforted us, so why itch? Art?

Joy is about trust, at every distance.
Good riddance, she saw how love,
   formed delusions.

Indeed today my pain was mouthed.
  Young-headed, sleep my mate,
Normally we see love,
   grow from an aggressive mind.

Get you Sir, with their raging.



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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