Saturday, March 12, 2011

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Location Location Vocation

Walls of hand-picked stones between which not a razor fit. Thus wind strikes whistle-free,
returns judo-esque promptly. Lavishly. Appended to first thought (beast fraught). Lamentation,
aggravation, condescension. Overt(ones). My magna carte-blanche overcast new size.
What lore we break (into) the judge's chambers. Nora was non-parametric for a gentle while.
She slaked a thirst belonging to another. Now her femininity's at stake. One overturns the violets
left in a stucco vase. And why not ponder different fakes? If I were yearning, I would be you
tiffed with full-on glorificamos (te). The rigor is all mine. Divinity's confection. Every
misdirection shepherds us to blooms we've never heard. A head shot will be nigh onto a vowel
sound in a hapless whiff of emptiness. In which you hear your pretty selves appearing to have
noticed other pretty selves on cue. Alertness as informal never-mind, and sugar as a causal fling.

Beneath matriculation, glass of port, a promissory notice, the avant vehicular endorsement

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