Sunday, October 28, 2012

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Kismet (Klaus said so) sleeps seven. A vintage abbatoir
requires parapluie in time to (w)allow in these leaves.
The a priori village rhymes with flaws induced by teams
of ne'er do wells (fare thee . . .). Some tumblers full
of raspberry indulgence. Where do parents go to earn immunity
from their only child? A mild wind augers window lines.
The nightly bathing in a faraway motel. A pickup truck
backed in before the doorway. Round-the-clock
formalities maintained. Today, all sentences begin with "so."
Dependent on the young reformers. If a sequel, where to
plant what has already bloomed. A class of would-be
underlings has risen despite mispronunciation of a market
trend. Wrenched from foreground, where a portrait has long
stood, defending manufactured history.
Elm leaves by the bushel, left before the door
Sheila E. Murphy

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