Wednesday, June 6, 2012

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

When I feel poor, I buy as many gigabytes as I can capture, in as tiny a container as
is made, then I am old wealth leaning into futures that depend upon my thought, my words,
deed done. Then for the moment I am Hildegard von B, I'm in a Wendy kind of spree,
I know my art, my art knows . . . and the hammock of immensity drives home run praxis
to the pale scope of the full moon in a prior season. Look at all the space I can't describe.
The feeder schools. The impact no one speechifies. The step "validify" that BC named
this ay em while we thought about the flunking privilege inside language arts. It's been
a dray hued day formed out of what I say. And many ministers of many functions dip their
fingers in the extreme unction of it all. You play gold mine keys, I say believe this
hunch. I take your grace to lunch. Amid a swervy kind of roundelay. We ship shape
our way beyond beneath beforehand and we simply play.
Long live, long life, long story, no strife
Sheila E. Murphy

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