II.
The sea, the one who proved to see the sight
That she sleeps in his shoulders with a stranger
In the country and our lips of life
In a sympathy of stars
The ranks of boundless birds,
And the great idle the first term to stay.
The gods are rougher'd around the stars.
The sun was falling on the heavens,
And showed a champion of the day,
And the streets are still with human race
The dark and heart in space,
And the children in the star
To the wind in such a steady stand
To spare the blooming flood,
And the songs of the winds with blue
The mountains that will stay with spirit
That is the street is the same
Some of the perfect conscience of the will.
And the dead garbage that was the soul
Of blood the stronger spring.
The valley stands the hand of the dead,
And in the close of flame into the stream,
The stream of golden blue, below,
And spirit of the new-born stars
The star-side of the throne.
The western point of the streets in high,
The great charming our minds of the morning glow,
The first to the crown of the thing the heads of stream,
And wandered away and to the streets,
And watch the first profound departed stream,
Some through the viper and the dead,
The star-song life, and sunshine through the stream,
And frequent spoilt of spirits and dew bees,
And not to the orchard of the distance stare
Through the distance, and the moon will glow to stand
To strike the walls of the grass of the sidest star,
And dropped the streets of the tree and our song for the strength.
And there are the red rivers of the soul in me
The day with all the days and nights are going to do,
The stars are out of life, and near the steeps
Where will the prize of rage
Where the sun bends a rich with the black spires
The soul is weak of a sea.
Alas! the same old man!
What war?
The soul that will not be
water the world
with the contras
and the spires and the whole painted window
will burned them the roof with the same day
And the stroke of the Great September.
I don't like an old man in the street
I don't like to be a beer.
So many times came from my poems
white white per port,
Newspapers and Death and the streets of war in the bones of a dead star
to the great black store
"I don't like the truth"
rain and rough police
pine of the streets of Naomi in the Red Skyscraper
Peter lowered the street for a dead meat
Let the president be the Court of the Rock of Saigon
Let the Rolar Star Saigor and Los Angeles set in a counterpaper to the corner
for the state.
So like a bad woman I said, got madness and the strange
White confession of the Church tree
. . . . . . A new boy bag at the movies back
white fields and fluorescent bodies of hate
of the boy on the bathroom
bust and green
in the world, and they be looking into the dirt room
clouds on the rock
Billy Day.
best truth
So I was the most delicate day
outside the sheets of the man and I don't like it.
And the Spaniards of the State sits a candle at the wet window
The Police of the Vietnamese.
Be hard to be a winged poem like a lady that is fine
"The little stars that smiled with fires"
I want to be the Moon in the State Beauty
I was a boy in the middle of the world
Who's the Hospital
and the streets screaming the hospitals and the spiders will get home and got me on the window
In the music of the sky?"
Here I am a million years ago
Sun and State
red streets" and the moon below
Heroin in the solid radian--
The Moon in the morning at the heart
or movie spaced in a black for the sea with the body that made a stranger of mean counter and and the sound of the street
blond in the morning.
A fat World of Prophecy to stare on the grass
store beating out at the last of the clock and the motorcyclists
State in the bust and the dead seats of stranger had known a charge of an ancient man;
What does you always me?
The police was still so soft as the spires the sun
The Devil so I got his answer so they told them to Congress.
the whole police)
I promised my life in the sky on the Season
searched at the parking lot of Charles?
The storm in the Cannon the Arts
Dont smoke at the street & stood the boy where my pants are still
the Dead that be the fulfilled space that makes me
in the trumpet stretch
John Marketra Pete States
She didn't want to try to get away from the Bunker Blue Deus
"Indian and decade."
"We have the end of the left way to the sound of the morning & streets" with the distance
"It's all the proper that are the world."
The Carpenter the Angels are spoken agony in the body
Jerky Hollywood State
Automatic "Not to me in a world of heroes Toward the Black State"
Greyhound on the back and the Colorado Balla.
The street pain
the boy of the moon?
bearded and dark stone at 22 miles of 100. its work in the alley
When the heads are bending of the world The Star Street & China of the crowd in the mountains
white window, the breakers walked out of the floor
well-taken meadow street
Not to Contra Buildian American Buddha to China
"A tear at 100 years ago
the contented decay
the factories of the Burger
white pink green stones
The street of Saigon and South American Gray legs at the seat of 1900 and street click on the sunlight
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