Friday, December 24, 2010

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy


"Million Dollar Baby" spills from pores of the portable radio. All the neighbors I can think of are asleep. Last night, some gifted us a bag of oranges. Wrinkled skin resembles seasoned trumpet sound. Soon joined by the fiddle of materal ancestry. I define experience by decibels. When holidays call to mind that I have missed something, I remember I can gradually retrieve or reinvent near parallels. When it is time to settle, I will be known by definitions I imposed on others' will. That my experience resembles moments yet to be achieved.

Champagne brunch, black coffee, precious mushrooms after which the soup is named, allowing days to write about the other days

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