Truth chants for thee.
I understand your absent wife.
made choices, enslaved by gulag hands,
I feel her doom, obsessed,
a happy sense stops me
I go to where dead skulls appear,
And think.
Queen Daughter, started to capture on canvas,
pictures above thought,
And the freedom to paint.
Rigel drugged my brain!
We might ask for their moons,
So we might hear picture originals.
Start to discover music,
A share in pride would someday impose
a rigid problem.
Space offers every bitter advantage.
Avoid his enormous snake-eating head!
Bold father, this garb must stink.
Suffer or paint, forever sanely.
Impulsively, sits on beauty balanced.
We know our sun God.
So sculpt him blind.
Fly over an unknown kindness.
We still believe in sky,
In the dark chocolate howl.
Chat, dress nude, intimately,
try a life-like vintage body,
Partly green, cooking is better,
As children grip society.
Mom's hard character never loses.
Sense in our red passion my art river.
He and she are chanting face to body.
They want to see on Crete,
shamanic psychedelic passion.
"Chant" she would say,
"I'll believe when smoke calls."
Stay in the experiment.
Did you die?
