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:

  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 - 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:

  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 - 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:

  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 - 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:

  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