Thursday, January 3, 2013

haibun || Sheila E. Murphy

Hasps (mis)aligned. Shape dismissed. Exacting form of willed pursuit. Hirsuite avengers radiate dependent clauses. Fractions of the depth inform a colloquy as fate would. Have it your weight. And amend the shiftless soma. Natch. A spelunked opus framed bovine. Until my time repairs your crime. The litmus ever after shores up what we lost when we were wondrous. As a matter of defamatory unction, one lets oneself go amid the dithering around one. Stratosphere compared with introsphere. A lotion and a cataclysmic overturn just like mother used to . . . to avert the in-range showcase of most husbandry one names. Her saw to it that she storked the way her landslide friends would claim, despite prevailing inverse wild(er)ness. Often torque repays endeavor with estranged new leads. A sang-froid oceanside motet will do. And you.
Sorghum, all the more refraining, and a lever to encroach upon
Sheila E. Murphy

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