Sunday, September 18, 2011

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

To chalk onto the pavement is not possible again. A fractured repertoire shows empty.
Prayers falls forward. The likeness between here and later camps out against wall
space yet unclaimed. To make is to appear to own . . . as shelf life means grape
wine. Disentangling unlesses magnifies shared poverty, wingspan, and the lurch
toward past tense. Nature runs its course correct. And we perform our roles apart from
resource by extension. How the city magnifies its keepsake. With each river seems as
hypothetical as nearby birth.

Letters full of yard, retro-glyphs in a montage, an infant now a man who never sees
his home

Sheila E. Murphy

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