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70. 67% ::Star Farm::Pigs in space and cows on the moon;
Let's visit their farm in a hot air balloon!
With chickens in lace running all over the place
While dogs and cats dance while wearing blue pants
And fish can cook without the use of a book!
The rivers are silver and the trees are gold
And ice cream never melts and always stays cold
Where horses teach art from the back of their cart
And sheep make wigs out of fuzzy broken twigs
While fat worms sing about anything!
The grass is red and the sky is pink
And the fun is everywhere around; just think!
So let's fly to the moon in my hot air balloon
And learn from goats what makes rocks float
While basking in the charm of that Star Farm.
31. FlowersBring unto me the flower of sin
Red flames of passion; sweet to the skin
Petals of delicate begging cries
Gaping for more with undulating sighs
Rising and falling in desire so tense
An awareness beyond; a creature of sense
Sight becomes sound in a blur understood
To taste precious nectar as only glory could
Tonight ride with me from the moon to the sun
Follow me, precious flower, our time has begun
Unfurl those petals and let me drive deep
To experience a taste of life in my keep
Your stem shan't weaken nor your nectar sour
For, if it does, you'll fall from this tower
A height so blissful it's too good to be true
Because the thing I want most is not merely you
It's your offer so strong in sinful power
But you are one among many, a variety of flower
So when your petals wither and your nectar runs dry
You'll find yourself cast from your place in the sky
Another will bloom and another will prove
To be better than sin; the sin which was you.
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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