Tuesday, January 17, 2012

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

I go there to be quiet, then I hear commemorative stamps bequeath a prior victory
where dollar bills are used to patch a lighthouse. That we may each
find function. Core strength on trial, truncated peace in form of passage.
Riled out of habit. Stroller-strong in-text citations manifest the lame
untruth of syllabi. By night, by dimpled daytime. All the wherewithal of letting
go possessions farmed to ebay as an emblem of the missing borders.
How is peace a thing? Memoirs extract their shame. Contagion falls prey
to the wallet free of clogginclog. While the ample territorial undress
remaindering appears at a wide angle. Dour against the granular infection.
Norms, plaudits, sums of squash court in the nimble hesitation that breaks
bread without a shim of martial arts.

Nomen-clash, the sure bet of commiserating with the dragnet pulse

Sheila E. Murphy

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