texts that change the conscious parameters of literature, both for readers and writers. from a different angle than these, r.p. blackmur adds: 'poetry: [is] ...language so twisted and posed in a form that...it adds to the stock of available reality.' now that blogger has included the ability to reproduce fonts more accurately, alpha-numeric visual-poetry will be welcomed for consideration. formerly edited by peter ganick. send texts to matt margo at firstname.lastname@example.org for consideration...
Saturday, May 12, 2012
haibun || Sheila E. Murphy
My connectivity distorts your intact rain until I tell you breath depletes engagement
with informal death. Perception of per capita remunerates that sinking flock
of breadlines. An interruption glyphs the wall instead of sky paint. Lonely
loss of wine bar, winter, walleye, seed. These drying things remind how many
curiosities have been remanded to a folder between fingers of the sherpas
and the deans. A clock strikes eyesight with a tone too bright to read.
I'm thinking you bemoan rejoinders of all kinds. I hear loneliness in your
protectorate. The species you adorn by way of fatherhood, a fine line between
faith and cloistering one's prayer, redacted by the mother who refuses to arrange
a screening. Voice implies restraint distinctly different from a discipline attributed
to selves. I winter in the north, to know these trees beyond the trees. Whose
latitude amasses guilt portending reciprocity again.
Mind attributed to motion, pulse of the beloved, safety deprecating, and the lion's