Monday, December 21, 2020

Song of 81 Poems - XLI




An aggressive raw sound, green money in denial.
Investigate the sound of my Queen's sexy gown.

Why complain? Young babes
demand, obsessive  sculptures,
    Which open above to influence life, 
I sure marvel, at emotional electricity,

His play cramps communal thought,
Compose important memories.
    Better I sought you, I was in pain,
Nervy, abused, before my bovine smoke party.

Discover music, like stormy breath.
Be cured, cruise with some underlying soul. 
Have less trouble while we all question why night birds rise.

No glorious awesome electric fantasy?
Choose a language, an overbearing surreal fragment of an original woman.
    Stretch up a faithful canvas. Progress, Laugh!

Impulse is their will.
    You dress up his deep street language of life.
Speak out now and imagine tests for this other storm.
A dirty queen sleeps with your last free canvas.

Get lost Pal, behind a drunks death.
     Heaven chooses, we’ll soon know.
Open that throwing metaphor,
    Though bold, perfume is a calm instrument.

The day is risk to sweep away your wants . . .
    She chants 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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