Sunday, April 24, 2011

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Bark marks nabbed the tree. What do you know of time?
A datum lingers, though not very (limber). Trawl is what to make
of an old watch. There's a name for this. Using Ebay, you can
furnace through the parts. Neuralgia mates with absence,
sipping absinthe on account (of). A foray toward one of means.
(With) Legend has it you are brittle just beneath the cloth.
An architect, a moth, the sole decedent. What have you (been doing).
Whose interrogation mark is left to outer coating. Now is the time
for all (good). In a lenten foray, many of the hangers-on draped
weeds across a school. Where no one picked up (on) the child.
Inhabitants drifted through wind referencing the lack of stress.
And stretched their pale imaginations across tentacles and manacles
and mandibles and oracles and rinsed free sheets to wind chimed pace.
The impresario gave credence to vocabularies spoken in the way the
lariats seem freely singed.

Urgent care, an unguent, maturation can be dunned, Norelco animation

upon snow light

Sheila E. Murphy