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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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 - 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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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 - 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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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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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 - LXXII

Men never thought marvelous beasts.

      feared your sibling's time ending.

Threads break about me.

I imagine absurd and visual music.
     Hiding him home.

Woefully, masterpieces include praise.
When childhood pressure is up and away.
You'll see her wild boar,

     at peace, so young, painted dirty until now.

Many drew dead threads. 

     stopped, saw guilt, only whose was it?

Sad Mother, troubled, wrote to herself.

   Language was never meant to abuse.

The dance got better, the sculptor drove,

   chiseled, sculpted, in solvent language.

Marry me or die. Decide.
I'll make key observations. I have assets.
Day one, imagine, true, but in full color.

    Curious passions become art.

Make liars puny.  Lose the bet.

Storm out crazy, a little sexual.
     Tho, a friend might crush thee.

Heal, they have control over us,

     make our thoughts like a daze.

Choose, to see on Crete, your childhood.
Shared, appearing as sweet electric water.
    Stand that, and create. 

    

    Giselle we're free.

Song of 81 Poems:

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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 - LXXI

To model a kid's silhouette, literally look.

A metal instrument,

   twinkled, wryly caught, a childhood delusion,
   trusted and shared with you.

Carve space, forget summer nights.
May you please, joyously, give freedom.
   Observe, and crowded dry Earth.

We must hurry, see into a secret sin,
   nimbly navigate open obsessive work.

Create a new home, how might I run?
   Should the monkey have come?

How will you go? I see old experts.
   "Miss Ivy!" "Expert!" I mean it.

Present psychedelic peace at dusk,
     attaches watery silhouettes to sound,
I'm sure this missive uses high praise,
Deserves affection of a past sex angel.
    Investigate the obtuse ugly canvas phobia.
    The mind is good in bed.

Important music grows full.
    young sculptures give a sugar laugh.
Painful, because your style said,
   "Man they never suffer passively."
To my ugly shards:
    Cold cooking runs back to ground,

I suffer to think of jokes.
The blind missive heard metal
   almost made our music.
Cloth filled my mouth, stale,
   when despair gets you,

The air feels empty.

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
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 - LXX

A man feasted on deadly stew.

     Became healed, his blood pressure then was young.

Beyond the night, I had a meeting.
Memoirs met, we were afraid,
     I crept along a white street, skirting anger.

If silhouettes are important, heaven must perform.

Comfort us.
I see in us a Greek Queen I knew.
     At best, I see all, therein lies our way.

Esteemed fellow come hither.
The rude girl-faced serpent, in a daze?
     Men, beat her! "Heart care actors!"
I see you would enjoy some lime pleasure.

Rascal, have better fantasies, 

     Get off my mind, delight in anger.
     See me paint a repressed peace.

Take this perfume home, marvelous blossom,
     Forget him!
     Process ways to beguile rhythm.

His joy glitters, young motions, afraid.

"It's only after sin, some touch society.
     Give sugar. Dust won't hold bad money."

We present ugly shards,
The elf painted, performers appeared.
     Cunning, she stuck there.
Way down, chiseled her grip.

Cut him on the rock.

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 - LXIX

If blondes and drugs trash,

   you suffer.

Glorious passion, clever bits,

   make the electric picture.

Grass, without denial, respect, no peeking.
   Smoke upstairs is so good.

Beside his home, his son, dark, desperate.

    Famous, he was astounded, 

    He reached the vintage act.

Don't sculpt, reach. Seek us until
   the sea destroys your surreal subject.

Paint the rhythm, up, then down,
    forbidden watchers lie about.

Graceful aesthetics weaken love.
    stop, the solution is here.
More to my godson, Nekrasov.

A party animal,

    he's sleepy, he's right though.

Draw, sculpt your husband.
Grandchildren trash and capture mad thoughts,
   strengths stop communication.
Whose struggles are praise?
Only simple morphine, 

   Fake instruments are heard.
   I have her city, willing.

The way in is you little Sister,
    Curious from grand hair, 

    She is high on silent energy.

This is the hazy passion of drugs.

How to improve?  Take up patience!
No time to tell you to howl.

   Soft, faithful drudgery is no threat.
   About smoke, use it to guard her insulin.

Anger smears a wasted earth, 

His dish a batter, faithful at depth,
    cowered under a shy bag.

“I weld men." 

 So start sculpting.
   How willing is my Muse?

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