Proposing poems

Creeping whim

Opposite to whipping cream he is creeping now his whim just because a weeping willow looks exactly like a widow on his screen. Self esteem is growing weak and she has a visual leak. All the words hang in the wind like a novel fluttering and the self rotating spring keeps her wrapped in white and pink. That`s not good conservating. people think she didn`t love, keep a rock under the cloak and advance like murmuring consolating old good things. Nothing else is perturbing. Two young girls are like a swing using the same smile I think. It`s enough for them to bring to the lady of the lake. I don`t know if mister Drake is the one who wants to apologize for all the animals he has eaten. He keeps bones and flesh together for whatever happens next. Everybody in the text cut open a mouth to speak, add a drop of Atlantic and two drops of Pacific. Who`s the next? No direct critic. Some keep a lunatic mood in a busy mental wood. Would I? Or the others will believe that I`m rude? And will break a Hollywood in my head and I`ll be nude? What if she is half Gertrude that we knew before the fact that her husband is detract? I`m a kind of pizza-dude who`s delivering the worst wishes trying to comfort her dishes. And I`m sport for bloody people who believe in elegance. Is like having a romance with the people, for the people! I`m the pig of covenant, I was crossing the old bridge when hooop! this cortegee. I became a protegee. For all goods and for all beds, she is fitting me a yes in a long and silly phrase that I owe like to express, to confess and to obsess all the sadness that I guess she now needs a little rest. I`m opposing arm, caress and if necessary breast to her beauty in a stress. I`m the brother in this case. And I think we will progress. Dramma-maker

Dramma-maker with a shaker: He is trying to be shore for a wave of happy ending all the floor. Engulf no more! Enough is fruiting like a milking in a country side kitchening that it happens to be mine. Scratching all my Valentine and find looser number nine. Everybody did a crime! And my hair is on shine color marker. Even so the story-blender made a slender out of blue: didn`t know that pine and apple have so many things to do with my blanket almost new, like a baby full of tears I switch gears towards you, screw and screw and kill all dears for she fears seeing you: seeing you is like Botanics for a blind on avenue, no impression city fashion and the spots are red and true! Excess berry, stop the cherry and remove the berry blue why all saints a man like you xxx the straw is little known: swimming in the telephone is a woman helping you. Are you sure you are ok? This is not my holiday out of week to be with you. Wait a pic of our two! Stay en garde with apron issue from the drawing under sink. Don`t exagerate with Drink! Can be obsessive with you! Oh, my goodness, is this shirt? Cos I think is only dirt with a belly out of pink. All men hate such underthing! Dressed in tears you`re like granny arguing for any penny, reminds me of Mary-Lou, who in turn is not like you, she`s as decent as a fairy and she tells only the truth: harachiri mother goose! Lose of me and lose of you! Hang me out of town with you! Because you`re tall and slim and I`m like a rock. Because everything around is kinda block and you already have a rope. Because you have the groceries don`t let me run against the slope, be realistic anymore it`s not a tip. It`s something more. A kind of Evelyn Gilmore who kisss you darling through the door, except you want a corridor to run your dog and keep the score. Because you are elevator and I`m your neighbour under floor, behaving like an aligator: your water runs like never-more! And I am shaking! Animal-eating when poufff! All your bath is carpetthor in my bedroom. Are you sure? No,..., I explore like finding some fish in the store and you think it`s a stupid race and look towards my big disgrace with blue kind of candor. I`ll fix this soon with a condor (?). Man, are you healthy or it`s flu? Coz I would like to flu with you! Are you the famous man-actor? What makes you act just like a kiss? I`m not a kid nor kind of thief. I want to fix your pipper`s leak. I know you`l pay a little mor` like go to Hell, I want to snore, my time is floating and you bore a sneaky-tricky kind of Micky. Am I deaf or are you noisy? Or, we both are like a dasy in a field that is too lazy? I don`t want to go like crazy, you know, hands like talking, nose like growing, I Pinocchio you before you will understand a thing: I am here. Everything. And I`m Core! Holding a House I`m holding a House to be with you, how much do you think I can stay here like a caryatid in Temple-Boo? It`s me, not you. If I hate building that`s what I do! And all the ceilings be over you with my big power on top flat you! I flatt you two, like little rats dam cursing you towards the trap! I`m naking you with naked crap again and wrappp! a taco-bell is ringing in my ear or two? Inviting you with me in Hell at Malibu humble Hotel. And you say well, I`m not with flu, so I might kiss the mystic you and still be able not to tell why am I feeling so dam well? Are you a beever bit of man and I`m the river out of blue who keeps you busy underneath? Is this a sort some of a flute that keeps you floating? Building it! Unless you are an Eremite, you know, a mountain top of meat, alone in a Skete and everything. Maybe I should one thing repeat instead of talking. And that thing choking little bit. Like puppeteer in old story who seeks the glory of his boy this is the ultimatum toy. Decide-toi!

Everything

Everything is Fine, splendidly blue and White with pink stars, do you? And there is a flag underneath to keep it all waving like a woman saying good-bye, does she? And your melancholia is linked to her but you pull like crazy and wish to have a scissor for that, isn`t it? Bloody left-handed things are faraway in a shop where you are not inside but in a completely different place as departure from home, got it? No turning on green pasture with you and Lorette reading a book for kids and laughing out loud cos now she`s probably married to someone that is not you, again, kidding me? Kidding her with a few kids on the same holly pasture which make sense only when you try to remember sweet things and cry, for somebody`s sake, don`t you? Oh no, you really have to go my dear, don`t give me this sad face of yours as never see each other again. Who knows? In your home sick town house somebody will scratch the lucky number and you will be able to come back like a big deal and make me being a divorced woman for good and for bad and 4 times inlove with them other men, don`t ask me who! Ok, it doesn`t matter anyway, important thing is we are together now, is it? You thought I`m just another mistake because nature is so puzzling, you din`t expect to see me again like a cool guy laughing with your neighbors for a big treason, are we? You can`t believe it`s me, under your curtains something is trembling, is that your cat or am I laughing again at a stupid joke of ol`good Tile and you think I`m a bastard now who will rape his daughter only and only to make you get out, calmly smiling towards something else, a hen maybe, hey, how are you again? Why the Hell is the daughter so familiar with this crook, half gangster half mobster hand in hand with her when your hen is a wreck and you should cut her throat, all women are the same! Make a soup, make your husband think is good tasting, make plans with him towards that idiot neighbor who knows nothing about boiling liquids and still have such a daughter! Such a long line of spooky words coming out one by another like riding a plane in order to arrive faster to her, broke me? Don`t break that, is our last souvenir, I still love you woman, don`t try to make a divorcee out of me loud, will you? I`m a foul, I know, don`t insist upon, I should of letting you catch butterflies with that old boy of yours and make an insectarium as big as this wallpaper with you too in the middle, only sky and herbs, let`s talk about the soup now: Can I have some more? Or is forbidden by all heavenly laws of yours being sorcerered by the window as bright honeymoon with another foul? Is the hen still there? By all means and by Jove I will kill her again cos you cook sooooo good! You are a cook-born-cheater double crossing the kitchen like dreaming, old fat wife, you! I`ve never had such a wife, just you, just eating your recipe with no lamento and giving all my money like Ma Baker woman is baking some potatoes? Butter or olive oil? See? Now everything is fine. I will erode that guy by the bone, he will regret him coming back from bottom to top of the hill, forget about everything with you, closing his eyes when he sees you, God bless neighbor`s daughter, Mary, she`s so cute, isn`t she? One could die for her... in suspicious way like mushroom unknown, like bull ridding in the wrong direction, like interstate road back to hell he came from, like cross-cross-cross off! Is it? Love the dessert! You`re a dam` good enough house wife keeper when I`m out of order now so don`t try that trick on me! Obliterate! Our bedroom is flying with the old pictures, this is our heaven and nobody`s else and you have a nice blouse-wife so many holes in a lace aren`t too much? Override my bad words with your rubber, and I will do the same for you, let`s buy a new white curtain for the cat, just me and you?... 43. LOVE-STORAGE (from tumba-yanna, short stories)

She knew that she suffers from an incurable disease, like restless on needles, and that she is going to die soon. Her fiancé knew it too and he was laughing more than usual, exaggerating all gestures, being aware that any opposition excites him more and its useless to resist like a tailor in front of a silky piece of cloth. Her family knew this too and all their friends and neighbors. It was like pouring whey through a broken cheesecloth, faraway, in a sheepfold on top of the mountain. The sheep also knew it, they were well aware and they were boredly accepting to be milked for people like that, looking up toward the God of Sheep which made them sign with his thumb in his mouth like : shut up, hell you! Shut up and endure a little bit more. He knew it also, the wind, and raced through wormwood and other bitter herbs, The Autumn itself knew it and verdigrised everything that was falling under its heavy gold hand. (Dragon didn't know it) . And, to tell the truth clean, even the the Devil knew it. Yes, he knew. And he was laying in his den with bright green eyes shot toward a fixed point, shaken by the first and only human feeling. He wanted to eat a quince. There was no news left to be learned, all the ears were withered and pounding in the informational void, all the deformities could be seen with the naked eye, and the fiance was caressing them all. He loved her in such mechanical way, he wanted to troubleshooting her somehow, moving her from one foot to the other: they were dancing ... They were dancing, yes, and everybody was standing by the window and looking inside, there was a bear too who was taking pictures for hibernation to make it easier, like a diaphanous prose while sucking his paw to be happy until next spring next to his bear-she, though he does not deserve her ... Do you say that Dracula did not have a Dracula-She? Correct. Dracula-She was as healthy as a cannon, she whistled and cut wood. She also knew that the heroine was irremediably sick of something with an unbearable name made of candles lit on the black velvet full of wax, she knew, but she did not want to approach the winter unprepared. She was making black cherry confiture combined with blackberries, baked eggplants, and, generally speaking, she destroyed all that had darkened colors by dragging them through the forest, grinning. The Devil, cautious, pretended not to see her. It was painful, that a young girl like her was going to die at the end of the booklet and he wondered why she complicated herself up to the point of making the idiot believe he loves her when she knew she will die and still danced with him at the stake. The irremediable things are dealt with differently: - You're almost dead, I have nothing to do for you, just dance faster, and kiss me more often.- I can not, I barely stand on my feet. I'm going to faint.Se was able to fall out, to fall blue in the blue air, to forget about her and to live a little more behind the curtain, emanating slides of elephant sadness in which others stumbled, wiping their eyes, and so on.- Is she still dead? Yet?They were relaxing for a few moments, making the list for the after-funeral Christian Party, slapping their too curious children, and then announcing that the mirror was still steaming a little bit more. A winter brize made them raise their heads bent over and look again. Yep, she was there. She fluttered with him, who already had a long-standing wolf figure of a novelist because he was sure he will write-describe a novel in which he would appear dancing with her at the window in the fridge as two scarecrows of readers with a wide panorama towards the basement . The crowded feather-like movement, the glitter of glittery sparks like an acute pain in the background, all that the Devil instilled him in that moment to awaken him for purely sweet purposes that he had once blamed, but now he accepted them. WHEN SHE WILL BE DEAD ... With these words all his thoughts begun now to run, and the mob thoughts too begun with these words and the bear”s too. When she dies, a blessed spring day, we will rest. When she's going to die ... what amazing things we will do, will we go mad completely ?? And what happens beyond the novel, beneath the last transparent page, does she get up again and the whole hospital starts to throw bricks at her in a furious self-demolition, others with the big cakes brought to the sick-dear-ones crushing them on their round faces, she walks in a transparent night-shirt in lunar and funeral mood advancing ten steps per second. Is she Flying? Does the cinnamon fall out of her like old dust of redemption in a mortuary site Rosetta Stone? They had fallen underneath the novel, it was a small, sprinted world of ideas that stung you. Why not go in countryside with her, why dont give her some sweet wine to drink, what if we kiss her on turns, like a soul rinse, to see how she reacts? If she's drunk she'll accept it, she does not even know what she's doing... Alfa-Beta... Here the author stands upright and big on two legs:- Oh, no one touches such an Appearance! Everyone with his nipple and paws in his equipment. Plus heavy justice swearing like hell if daring to harm her.The novel was so soft and hot that it was stretching with other novels, very unclear but tasty and delicious: the Dracula-She was still cooking there. Alone. Let's not say sad because the poor-she did not have a handkerchief. She had only the frying pan and that big smoke, the collapses of shriveled grays in which a wild boar was smoked on the back without even suspecting it. Paralelipipedo-dude. He had no idea, is he hibernating or dreaming awake? He felt so GOOD under that warm tempest that all his spines were on and high on his back. Was he on the beach? Where the bad'mother was? Tangling and messing the hemispheres? Is he inclining them hemispheres with his slippery weight? What did he look for here holding a Dormant in his arms that sent him ants on the funicular through his trembling pastry?--Come on, let's go a little further, there are others waiting to be smoked. Winter will come tomorrow! I know, God, it will be tough. I want Pintea (romanian outcast) the Brave to give a helping hand. You say this is only a Liric Death, bro , I'm sorry I do not have a human engine to make me feel normal feelings like any living organism. Par green and Par bleu, have all gone yellow! (them colours) 50. SHE HAD (Avea, from tumba-yanna)

She had a vinyl baldness in her hermelina fur coat that she usually covered with a hen. In other words, she had 3 out of 10 in Zoology because she did not know the difference between fine rappers and grouse, which made her grandmother to tell him he is like a woman already. As if adolescence is something that you can keep still. In the hope that I will not lose any idea I would like to describe how she walks on the street, from the back, she was like the Hypocyrta Radicans with that bright orange hair where you could make a wish at it and she would not have caught sight of you, so she continued to walk in a careless mood. I hoped she had a secret meeting, but she did not. She was not necessarily ugly, sometimes watching her I forget about myself, I could see only a bit of nobody there who did not have time to ask her what”s up so one day I put myself down with three flowers in my hand on the middle of course, determined to receive her with sweet appearance in order to make her falsely feel good.. I myself was dressed in a gray autumn combed suit, and my whole human ambition was to make her think she was sympathetic being and had something to give us, the others. My soul was partially like a spunk, but in other way was curious to see how a fanciful woman reacts when she understands that she is dear to ME. Not for that I would have done something too obvious, no, my genre was much more neutral, I am respectfully arrogant especially in the moon of January when the snowy carrot nose announces that there is no one at that time barefooted on the street. I'd like to have champagne, anyway, three roses are like a vision that pulls out of mind any idiot woman like her with vinyl-baldness hermelina coat painfully adorned by Hen. Finally, here she is. I'm imposing her in the center of her route, unfortunately it's not the sun in the sky, it's just the vague epicenter of the advancing autumn under the soft clouds that shines. She does not have any observation towards me yet, she goes awry in the morning-to-lunch time rather cold, I iwill nvite her to an ardent thing: my body needs grimace from time to time too, like any other warm body, although I am not a common man. She cares, sure she cares, has no other escape than to see me shipwrecked in the middle of the pavement with three flames orbiting toward her like three concomitent suns at sunset. I do not understand if she's completely hallucinated by me or carefully wrong, which gives myself a sense of joy looking at the showcases as if she knows, hey, that I'll give up at the end, she'll hit something soft who will not hurt her. Which will not make them black stars anymore around her clear forehead. So ugly, with Clementine aberrations, she has no choice but to cling to me to make a good call in her ear, to wake her up with a pair of rapid palms. Looks like a dildo, I'll slowly teach her to be a housewife ... She made another step to me, shit it like a thrush if you want me, shake me, I have two bright eyes you say it's like a jolly pussy from a sparrow on my ice shoulder. I'm doing the proper cleaning plus removing dandruff not seen too much on that cult costume. I'm exultant. Something like that, however worshipful that her whole orogenetic body is clinging to me as it comes out of the crust. I do not understand, however, what she does with a hen and me with a grasshopper that jumps to that sublime height of the chandelier. Finally, this is a home-remembrance from me when I was a terrible height and my mom laughed ... anyway this is just a childhood memory, dont know what its doing here, somebody else. I mean, I was stupid, and I was eating mussels like any kid of my age, and I'd have to stick my ear to an old vinyl. Romances of it might. Ioana Radu, something. Stuffing stuff, thick voice, lipstiking rope, old matrona. Forged and abandoned in the lake where I turn faithfully around but she does not move. She would want whipped cream with coffee every morning, you horrible her! I'm recovering, cursed grunts of literary writers broke by fault and so many broken iambs in my internal harmony. I'm coming back to you, look how you walk like an idiot to me, you're a wrong girl, and you've got cilindrasse like a damping in my drops. Lovable, but especially malicious, swearing with you will have a great salvation. Get in good with the deburators. Because I and only I owe to you, the cow in your head teaches you badly ... She has gone past a showcase of hers, as if she were to see a movie of parallelepipeds in resumption of static, glassy elements ecstatic with unknown objects, not seen in a neighborhood with funeral tendencies as it was combined with Sinuata Statice, her favorite flower she often cultivates as a handicapped person on any continent, so I might hate it, but I abstain somewhere. Now it's close, I can only miss her if, God, help Me, do I dream? Yeah, a shabby little boy in a short pants shop is throwing at her neck right in front of me and catching her, kissing her, kissing stupid clothes together, laughing, WTFIH, I'm also sorry for something I can not say, we were waiting for someone else, Mr Bean, we, the poor ones, I was expecting someone else ... Good luck, that after her comes a nice little girl like a doll, a little stature, with a green glove of another blue that perfectly understands who I am and, in replica, I jump on her with the bouquet wounded in velvet. Good or bad, I was able to describe her too while the stupid boy of the shop does not end with his Giumale in pieces beside her, in a way I enjoy tears that did not come to my high level, only I know who I am, only I can suffer to my level, always, only my devilish divine disposition can make me wait for me forever discreetly, maybe under tarpaulin, the main one like me who could be greater in the whole world? The doll passes her palm through my locked sight, yes, she's there, I'm here, we'll put a few miles of hedgehogs in the fir tree under the cottonwool to see what's hot here. Don”t you feel like you”re repeating yourself a lot, girl? 44. The Seventeenth Chapel (from tumba-yanna short stories)

He watched her again like watching a golden fly through the dusty silence of the vitrifiant case. Being as lonely as he was, you could have forgotten him at night in some archive, rummaging the shelves in front of a luscious lunar background that shoe-shone. He is charismatic, but that does not help him anymore to deal with the irrecognizable portraits of martyrs. He should not have forgotten that he was here for Luluţa, only for her and nothing but to love her with the churchy owl- love he was feeling for her. Luluţa went ahead with other flutist visitors, and he felt a little bit older, somewhat stringy, like a boxer dazzled by the whirring storm. His childish part released on a sunny terrace was smiling in his memory, and he wanted to believe that there was a secret passage through which he could get out of mankind and reach Filaret (old railway station in Romania). No, he had no way of expressing himself so directly in front of all those moody men with their hands on their chests. He wants Freedom, right, but not so much freedom. He was smart enough to stir an anthill and find eternity there. He could rejuvenate somehow listening to the French tourists whose tongue with turtles makes you dream. You do not see Luluţa again and panic puts a needle in your neck from which you could freeze all around : Luluţa, who do you vote for? Why are you leaving me here to feel so miserable? ... And yet something in that holy silence sounds like an amiable pact. Luluţa appears somewhere upstairs, illuminated by a hidden light bulb concealed with charming power on her body, anointed with lavender oil under all circumstances. You know, sweetheart, I want a kiss ... The others thought you were worshiping something, suddenly stup(id)ored, warm under the flourishing tie. And you, poor you, felt like dying. Is by any chance possible for Luluța to be Zea Protector of this Seventeen Chapel? It seems to be too obviously elephantine, out of the canons, like one who has been tired of living among jars, considered a mere living thing. Plus, her running force is equal to a trampoline that jumps through the garden called Rai- Heaven made with a single flower, not mentioning that that flower was brought from The Eighteenth Green-House. He has no piano to oppose at such a piccolino musical threat, take her the hell out of his sight. And who do you think is descending serenely on the ladder as if all the dust around her flies? Luluţa. That gruesome idea makes him screech, he did not know about all the muzeistic loops that put your art ideas in pre-established order on a tray. Knowing that he would have made a good wicker basket, letting himself go on the wave like Moses towards the young lady ... He was not covered with fur, don”t use that kid of words, rather he dominated the animal side of him, smiled to Luluţa, to the ideal zone, rises in two pointers and balancing toward her like a duck tapped this: No one in this world has the right to give Me a Hint. First of all, he's a great altruistic figure with about sixteen knots on the handkerchief, which in Romanian means a catchpenny in a long lane of skinflints. Then, cautios like slimy old troll wolf, he is delaying so long in the bathroom until Luluţa was really bored. His plaster consciousness is like a statue of David, the one he tied himself up to so they will not be able to pull him out of the pasture. He was getting up by himself like a nouveau riche, but the creeping speed weakened him. Next time, he will insult Luluța directly and righteously, not to dismantle him from his archimandrit style with aesthetic soft bells because he is the only holly one and only him will be saved. Salvaged or finished, also a finished one. New visions assaulted his tower. With a more German face, they say he's the nocturnal blower on the second channel, more punching, more dead in his doll. Luluţa also visits the after world in the fresco led by a he-fox who tells her all the data we need? What a sorrow ... The redhead, trained, hunts her all over, he seems a lucky guy, and yet he smels at her bastard veil by saying all kind of lies just to sip her into his soul bit by bit. Morning treachery! Luluţa will die, his rigid banal icon will strike at her softest side, get out you all children from the infernal scene where we will collide a Mater with a Pater in thousand pieces. I do not believe in the Precipitated, but I believe in the puddles. And the occipital part deeply engraved will be. He felt the taste of the earth in the pink gums, and the top of his head flourished like a lily. Luluţa, my dear, would you like a freeze-cream? A fake-pistachio cake? Anything you like, just let me stay all alone with you, I am single to be. I miss a pussy, a pearl lipstick, sorry, a carriage, through your blonde hair I think you still have a thread that I would like to shoot through my jokey mind and then blinded to hail! What were you doing for the guy with that kind of smile? For your historical purpose only, no matter how dear to me, it becomes definitely stressful and full of stitches, do not scream that it hurts, the thin audience only knows me that I am the promised one, the Bridegroom! You will sit locked still in my arms in the roundel poem, to see if He can touch you any more! Blemishing folklore!

I was born in the kitchen

So I started to cry. Peter took a pan and made me look like a pie.

-- I”m your father from now on, grow or die! Double go on! Make me feel like Pharaon in a summer close the Nile talking to a butterfly. Sure one day you”ll start to lie, lie to me, lie everything, you”ll be like her and I will sing. Meanwhile remember I”m the King. Run your shadow with my eye. Cheese smell and milky way God will make a better day out of me and you. Broke one truth but kept a word: I”m a solid human gold. And I hope that you”re not cold. You don”t realize I”m old, later you will see nice faces, but too late, my hon, will be. Understanding harmony is up to nobody, or me.

-- Look, I shouldn”t talk so soon, I still have one foot on the Moon, saw your window, thought is cute, pulled my heart from Lilliput and yes man, here I”m put. I”m not cold but I should be. Is this weather just for me? Silver zip please close, smarty. Born to rip the history! Cheese smell and milky way I will love you anyway. Took your language, sorry much, is there sugar in this ranch? Not to mention French pastry, saw lack of delicacy... I don”t know the hell is me or this kitchen is a cell, I will sleep and you will clean, be sure that one Halloween i will dress like Sweety Bride and you will hide all your pride like a yellow

submarine.

Self-neglecting wi(n)dow

The comb in her hair goes mainly in the air with her starring in a window. That`s my widow! Here and there I find big clues-less everywhere. And if I give a dam her speed will fall again, no need. Meanwhile I read, I`m in control. I read like Hell. I`m going well above Purdell. And even so, I flatter her and she widow-like responses: come here at onces but not at twelve. I`m self-neglecting me in bath and doing slowly kind of math. And eat Crudelle! I beg again. She learns-me-how, my prospective is now a mi-aw.

-- Widow-a-day and you`ll be fine. If crap surrounds us nose the swine. She looks like scare but crow don`t mind cos him just got out of a pound. And reluctound.

-- Compound is sound for pound in bound! It`s wrong to put a rime soufflaund!

-- I know. Be quiet. Take a grand. As nanny, dear en-passant. Have no idea of Durand. The hell is he? An employant? Why keep in rain such brilliant? Venez-avant!

-- She`s NOT my aunt. She`s just Constant. I hate her being insinuate. I reverent revertebrante. I throw some mirrors in the sand to see her passing cette instant.

-- Are you Karmant? Is this a way-out or a stunt who hula-hoops me with a ring but without saying anything about descent? I feel the scent of him incense if this make sense against the wind.

Translate ( În transă printre late cele )

I”m in a trance now, latter! By letter I will let you know my love. A sweater is on the armchair and it”s not mine. But I can bear it coz Valentine is on my side. The street is sunny like Golgoth. I goog a lot but I”m not Fanny. Just Mae or Mica the morning spot. Except Guernica, can”t stand that plot against my money have anti-dot as self-prescription of you a lot!

-- Is this a slate-roof? Cos I”m the Fall. Just give a look here and crush them all. No, I”m not small. I give sensations of anti-scroll. A leg is over but I can dial so stop just yelling and say good bye all. Put bed in order under the sky or I disorder my body-lie. Fancy maneuver but I”m not Hoover, I hope the lawn is not too moany for fewer hits. Could play the Bonnie in clay-o-bits and still be granny of all the wits.

-- Don”t make a horror out of your kids! Allow my honor to judge you better: is this the sweater or panty-bizz? It looks so easy like see-and-freeze in Hollo-breeze. I”m on my knees and nose together to smell the weather like doing quiz.

-- Don”t put together these words of sorrow. I”m happy-ending and you don”t care. Just be aware of dogs and shadows and I will follow your closely case. By closing poems you ruin phonemes full of compassion for pour limbs who crush the sweet crust like making big trust of frutty-tutti over the dust.

-- You treat my blonde hair like trying to split my thread into four, unrealistic expectations you have from my happy sensations of deja-mort.

He's in the motion

A rusty mechanism, the Grievances, has been set in motion, how else could we get out of stuck the dreamy prince? The struggle of man has resemblance only to his wandering shadow. When the world broke loose, I cried out for him and he did not come , but I left him a long thread to use it as a feeling-transmitter, maybe sometime, repentantly, he will take the right step. Thinking he is upset would be such a hard feeling that you would break nuts with it and he would say it does not hurt him though he would get patterns on his thoughtful forehead full of parallel and luteal wrinkles. What do I want? Him to sleep quietly in the deer's nest where if he sacrificed anything at all hope it does not hurt him. A gentleman easily grinned at me like a veil , I did not even feel it, I was busy doing the bride so brisk at the cops like the pen that you tapped the ink X Miasa, the unbearable.

- Give me a little javelin to make an extension because I have an electric current flow with my mother and great-mother. I think he was crazy on the playful side of the road since he had forgotten his wand and wanted a judge as good as a flattering mouth.

- Oh, do you have a kilogram of watching? I forgot my teaspoon of useful drops. Did you know that the pigeon has a smaller flying force than the squirrel when he sees a Scarecrow?

-- I do. I thought it was calculating, but it's kind of just like that Frightened flight. I hope you have a landing technique if not, watch the cat you and take the example as such her. And end with the net in front of the computer.

Timeless watch running dead

Silent display of prints around the house: somebody will steal the nice watch and all the rumors you will cry. Better cry first, fists on the wall like rock and roll wild Indian pattern you go! The thief will surely let the courage slow and the snow will do the rest. But you need to convince him. Do you really need the watch or is what you bought thoughtlessly from a yard sale so faraway? What are you interested in, anyway, Sir? We also have a cat we might bonus you with it. I”m old, my wife, Lilith, is almost 75, the neighbors are old too, we don”t need the watch, just give 20 bucks and scratch the path backwards.

-- I collect watches, my old friend. I like to watch them brief-casing my sobriety up to the second floor where nobody lives anymore. What I could be? An amateur? Voleur? A Dorothy bad skirted on the floor?

-- Don”t joke with us. You”ve got what you wanted. Be safe!

The thief is disquietly listening such lamento nobilis who are able to give him a kiss but not the watch, not now, not this, not go inside my paradise!, faintly whistling like nothing happened. Some outburst may get out of this. Some gossip like ”Tomcating” with the others to own a rabbit”s foot as soon as possible. You turn the light off, just think he”s gone and a new snow-flaked cover will hide the truth. Again. Don”t try to look pattern. Outside, the window in the snow go yellowish on blue, like love. No shadow of yourself on it, the visitors will go as he is agoraphobic , hon, you know... Is there an attic in the sky with sweet armchairs on-the-fly where stupid thieves don”t try to hit? That”s pure wit. You”re safe again. Again you split. The thief is never good enough to bite your feet. Actually he thinks he is only your dog. That”s it.

Cinema Veioza (little night -lamp Cinema)

A more classical film pour from the big, bitter upper film, a kind of greenish air with queer hints of quince, in which the heart was silent because all his reason was drawing. A hardworking girl was taking the ancient painting forgotten in the nail, making the sun she wanted and dedicating it to the sky. I can not believe she sees these emerald things that the great Herald has stunned on a screen in Disney-Land. Are the cartoons Șhui? Because Feng was left on the fence like an old dry leppard, but his eye was washed through the pink-yellow contemplation. It is autumn, surely we have this kind of shades that he gave us to browse , moving with the events and yet remaining fixed, evocative.

- Everyone is Kafkal, brother, we all have this plus a talent to invent, to lie, to pass through the deafness of facts by overlooking them who have made bad literary labels in this laboratory and torch visions to illuminate them mistakes. Greetings from Labrador! (he speaks)

-- Merciful is Single One-Self. The rest is with cheese like Lafontaine”s corbeau, if it sings he looses it all, and we take it back from the beginning. The excavation in ignorance was done with the tir'scope and now he would like to stomp them holes and put a big cross on top with the inscription: Banal! But on the way he forgets his purpose, he enters in a stain-shop like an old car in which the man has remained perfectly molded. He was seeing me in the back mirror and believed I was throwing his head upside down. Well, what's the noise? If the head is gone, we'll take a little bit of it, even if we'll die in the process as drooling goes along. (duios anastasia- adormirea- trecea, romanian river-movie) . If you have this call than take also half a cake provided that we have so little champagne and brought it directly to the main subject, Idiot you!

--We”ve made a machine gun for these bad kids by fashioning a branch without a panther hanging on it and with a firing top towards you all. A sentence from Kipling makes a whole adventure novel fixed to us with many needles that together make up maybe a nail. (information is too diluted, i think)

Apricot she-thief

Am doing crazy, Am doing lazy, Am speculating with you a lot against

'the mirror my self-deduction of stealing nature with apricot. You think

I`m crazy, you think I`m lazy you try to stop me but stop-me-not

I keep advancing with all my fingers towards the garnish of super-cake

you think I`m lavish, you want a break, you try to give me an entrecote

why hell is so far for you to push me instead of picking my apricot?

-- Are you in San Est? Are you a plot? Let`s eat more modest, close your

mouth-slot, I want a hammer to lift and drop like nutty-cracker. I love

your dress. I love your restless extenderness, why fruit so stupid they keep

so high, are you just trying to play-and-hide? The park is wide, when you

were Bride you didn`T ask me to watch your cry but now I want to, or

maybe die. Your little finger is in the pie, a cat would suffer electric supper

for such a lie. But I keep hanging my stupid tie sometimes like roses,

sometimes blue-sky. I hate your IQ but can`t complain coz I`m in vain,

like in a tub, try to forget you: you`re eating sly like Holly Molly

the sacred pie...

The he-thief she

You have arms all around me, I wonder why I feel like Shiva-butterfly, but I deny

I have just two try to stop you for good and bad get out of bed or I will cry and

you will red. Be. Step-at-me and you will see another ind of agony: the double pea.

Affair for you is kick for me like resting English in Dubai, go fly the boat, I”m not

robot for you to tie. I”m ferry-boat! Believe or not. Got apricot and peach and why

you think about me as com.plot? Dont even float from balcony like hooper-grass

in other thee. Just be x Be. I call you maxim robbery, you”ve got the best of strawberry

and still you hungry me as fee? Shut your copy, fishy crap!

Romanian translation for Apricot she-thief= Ea și piersica o lua

Am ca ceva ne-bun, am ca ceva leneș, am o speculație mare împotriva

mea, în oglindă, cînd o văd cum vrea să fure piersica. Știe și ea că nu-i

în regulă așa ceva, vreau s-o opresc non-stop și non-stop încerca. Iar avansa

cu toată palma spre podoaba aia de pe plăcintă, aparte: el crede că sunt

prea leneșă să fac așa ceva, vrea în pauză, incearcă să-mi dea una între coate

dar nu mă ajungea cu jongleria, nu-i reușea. De ce iadul e așa departe ca să

mă-mpingă-n el în loc să mă lase dracului în pace?

-- Ești în San-Francisco, ceva? Cum îți permiți să debitezi despre mine ca și

cum ai complota? Fi naibii modestă acolo și închide gura de la pușculiță, slut-o!

Ah, vreau un hammer să mă plimb în sus și în jos cu el ca Ceaikovsky în paralel.

Iubesc rochia ta model porumbel, Iubesc cum te întinzi fără limită, de ce fructe așa

coapte pun ei pe plăcintă? Vrei să fac fața-ascunsa cu ea pe fața ta?

Parcul e mare, cînd erai mireasă nu vroiai să mă lași să te văd plîngînd,

acum aș vrea, sau poate chiar moartea. Vezi că ai deja degețelul în cremă,

o pisică ar participa la cina cea electrocutantă dac-ar putea, dar nu e după ea.

E pentru tipi cu cravată schimbătoare ca mine, cînd roz cînd siniline.

Îți urăsc IQul și el pe mine, dar nu mă plîng căci sunt zadarnic în baie

în cadă încercînd să te uit cum mănînci ca o scrofiță Holly-Molly

afurisita de plăcintă portocalie.

I`m illuminating with you!

I`m crossing your words for better understanding of myself.

I think Im kindda Michael. Except Im fluid blonde and naked

out of blue. Inventing you was easy: I killed the kangouroo and took

the jumping system out of him for my voo-doo. You see, the world is

happy only when me and you pull out the fading colors from deja-vu

and do. I know you are a pumpkin, Pompelmo is like you, Romeo is

romantic but I am here for true. So try to be more practical.

Flying with me is something out-of-head like being carried with

no reason by Monet through his poppy sleeping field. Your response

is all I need, and you will remain vivid till a sunny afternoon, when

a memory will bloom: you`re in a pompous room eating honey

with my spoon.

About the others they will receive strips upon their faces, like

soldiers in war, but not upon their backs like hither-to-be in a

fast ceremony of their own. Now, be a good owl and go to sleep.

I'm fooling him around in Trinidad

Tobago. I am allergic to her as Jivago. But nobody was waiting for me in Orlando. I had her heart in a torpedo that galloped me up to Toledo. Tip Aolio! Does anyone see us?

- No, honey, you're all over! Stop screaming. With me sabot is coming forward as a co-driver, it”sok? Voleur-Sade! It collapses in Bissau not to see what role you have here. Neither Don Ramon did not understand. Enamoron of all? At his velvet age, when birds saw a blue lump up in the sky forward us. Is this the new wave? Is that something new? Did the devil came in a charcoal boat to Mangalia? Fake so, absent, with a cement shovel in which Ana begged him to be more careful. Watching her? Attentive to everyone? Careful to who- someone else? Attentive to Mona Lisuia.

- Do not press on her now that she's making crunches on your hand. Repair brother the hole, I no longer dreamed that this fake ancestral guy was in the boat. In Czech Republic. With turn around to make sure that you love it. Beau Geste we make from Bo Gest to be heavenly more honest and more relaxed. Tutorial, honest man! Stop filling to shame cos I'm indigest!

- Two meters of perfection is really too much for a meter and a half of stupid man.

She left me a shoulder

To put the scarf on it in case I could pull it off the model on that wet street where Holly Paparudah had cried: did you catch the rain in Obor? Or it's a test of silence made with a screamer who's going on along the showcases without a sound? I thought I had no money for myself, I thought I should go down, bother The feminine loges because his hair of flying sailor it”s after me again and his support shoulder is good for me. In one cloud he had shaken his glass, in another he was shadowing himself black, thundering in a whirling circuit: you've caught that night as something overwhelming? I mean, I'm going to throw myself at you with the agitating apple, it”s striking rocks to cross this decoration, in Ayurveda pity his locomotor system was wearing a full wardrobe: you got a cheater and playing Oarba's Babe with me on the computer? Take metaphors from the mermaid, and poured them back into this spring without seeing any observative neighbor.

- I think we're talking about the recidivism, that he's accusing. You've got it all with you Maladiva has no cure. But whoever cared about it when he left his wife for a scarf with cranes that carried our heat to other fields with winds?