Sunday, December 2, 2012

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Composition, comma, indefinite art(icle). To do more would effect recombinant futures.
Meanwhile, the remaining sunlight to move through as ideas. Lumber fields look fresh
with leaves upon them. Breezeless. If small music furnishes, a place to sit and hear and
not conjecture anymore. Tea ceremony and the act of indiscovery. To match what is.
On phone, half present, she would say, "just here." My own despair. My sadlight.
Enormously expected versus paranormal hope. Thus we disguise our being from the
cart of several perceived things. A momentum, as though something. One sure
flower makes its way up through the pavement. Metrics may not fly. A symbol makes
headway precisely in a heart. To say the word is to decide the real. And not posture
anything relaxed.
Episte- mine field, mined as if to mind

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