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...
Thursday, July 12, 2012
haibun || Sheila E. Murphy
Which of these embroiders the indigenous? A carving, pale to touch,
a violet, or a quail? The mind scrolls down to patch a wave with
an invented wave, inverted to the smooth pragmatic pinch of sleet gone
threaded. Each window has been dressed to keep the eye affixed to
possible delivery. Owls and preaching, silver blades of olive leaves,
the line of red rock here where we sit a distance from each adverb
left along the floor. A desert reeled in from our table seems a quick
assembly of some words for heat. We talk about unfathomable
temperatures that know us back. A sturdy pair of shoes, recording
capture, safety left to recollection. When we grow we will have saved
ourselves from who we thought we'd earned the destiny to be.
Sore thumb luring rides to unknown places, branches dusting off