Saturday, December 4, 2010

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Increment Weather

Do me the favor of typing the word "teh" a hundred times. Be the kinds of selves accretion barely scans. A moment more and we'll be in the figurative dog den, marching our socks off. If you bond with loose herds, tell the mayor just in time to get yourself registered to tote. I think, therefore I scram. Unleashing posses of our nimble twelve, we dazzle when we skimp on posture. Only you can prevent Orestes from the florist's squires. Now tell us, in your own words, what sort of mention you believe you should relay. Are there enough of you to norm with statuesque indifference? Is it natural to repave what we have walked? The list goes listless. We endeavor amid situation enmity, to frost the silver. If gesticulate becomes the cast-iron skill, then why are infantries abundant? One of us a tempo at a timepiece. Little-known feckless trounce all over vacuum-packed conundra. Sell it to your own soul, sister. Then and only now can we eliminate the friends in frenzy.

Portion cointreau alongside luminaria, the feast, the fee, the frolic

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