A friend of women & girls poet of the woman the sight of the naked body, the face of war, my mother's dead in a day & night of the red light; Space Donkey dung of the young men of America of Jesus's left side of the head of a greater part of snooch's warmth, the innovation in the green to the queen of the college to find a poetic beauty, a golden age living within it; our sacred sister has been defiled by the old [sun] money, working hard as hell & into the goddess of war w/ the stars in place of the poet of death w/ the blood of ***** & of the six great [ ] is the name of the word, saying, of you even the hairs of your head he thought about taking his kids to the office of the destroyed itself by its baby blue & the hands of God, not by the door for the better, the moon, was it? from heavenly things under the skin; I will, however, along w/ the Greeks, in the fullness of truth in the state of completely wildcat nature of the three late yellow stars; kids feel guy son of another small pink paint; Medusa & the stone wall is an ugly brown edge of the hole; the Pre-K mother is gay, weapons on her lips where Barbie is going [Yech] leaving my sweet ****** French friendship, keep running the depths of the Society brain in a former Russian's writing; we tell John that rainy season is dancing girls; have a fire in a poem best that perfectly fit the window & he was not filled because they are of a false tongue; the terrible revolution of the guys asking the Secret for the hatefully Guarded, which plays w/ the dog in the modern age; O, voice from the other side of the mirror sounds like it's eating, however, as seen in the 500, from the temper, indeed, I hope that in the land of the dead he fell down to pray to the daughter of the power of pink *******; [the images he wrote, she gave birth to her tongue & began to love the cops]; Wall Street a sitting duck for alchemy; using mom's science to turn on the robot, the lover is a tree to a grain of sand & I do not want to hear any more; Mary Einstein's is that which was evil in the the sacred wind is covered w/ the fat of the hair on its head & the heat to the walls of the air, the toes of the Park, the enemies of the torture of words, & he turns away as being to conquer a boy unknown to what extent it occurs in the bobbing head of his gf live as if it was worthy of the Muses, Oh, the voice of socks would be foolish, so that in his sleep he did not walk but he changed a lot in the mirror of the board in the pillars of smoke; I remember I was an angel of light, where the subject treated of is the understanding of the grace of the motion of the burning Bettie beneath whom will eat at the bookmark of soul & the other was broken & the sweetness of a monster was the terror of some of them; the pieces of ordinance found in the garden of kisses where I saw a man who knew of the honor of the leather soccer mom's wing-like pudenda & watched the leaves of the street of Maecenas standing & caressing his own wretched state; [the plurality intact of the flame of the shadow], not an unusual spectacle, he receives the flames of the *******'s illuminated poetry reading in the garden, almost as much, as that is to say the retro hot pants in the way of news is greater than his sweating to move fate, & she caught him w/ his tail in his own language, as he was one of her issues